Dark Souls: Age of Tranquility
by dankbouls87
Summary: "In the Age of Lords, the world was broken, cursed by disparity." The angels have vanquished fire and dark, and blessed humanity with eternal sleep. However, a new curse has caused mortals to awaken once more. Now, a champion must rise to usurp the fallen Watchers, reforge their legendary blades, and restore peace to the kingdom of Nos. (Pics at Deviantart! User: dankbouls87)
1. Prologue

**1\. Prologue**

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 _In the Age of Lords, the world was broken, cursed by disparity. Every thousand years, the four Demon Lords would awaken and bring destruction to the lands, toppling great kingdoms and dividing their people. They afflicted humanity with undeath, trapping them in an endless cycle of torment. It was an age of calamity and ruin, of strife and disorder. It was an age of Chaos._

 _Then, from the ashes, one man rose to break the cycle. His name was Nos the Everlasting, and he saw beyond the wheel of life and death. He saw a world untouched by disparity, freed from the Lords' influence, and with his divine insight, he shattered the shackles of fate and transcended the curse. He became something greater than a god. He became unlife._

 _Armed with only his brilliant mind, Nos challenged the Demons. With his vast imagination, he conjured legions of angels to battle their monstrous hordes. With his endless knowledge, he extinguished the consuming flames and repelled the chilling dark. And with his unbreakable will, he buried their accursed souls inside the Everlasting Pillars, and the Lords were no more._

 _Then, with his lofty wisdom, the benevolent savior carried humanity to their new kingdom — Nospel, the Realm of God. Here, he blessed his people with eternal sleep, and appointed his four greatest angels to watch over them._

 _Samaras, the Propagator._

 _Ebraxes, the Cessator._

 _Heliphon, the Illuminator._

 _And Xyne, the Abator._

 _They were known as the Watchers, and together, they maintained balance and order across the lands._

 _Thus a new age was born — the Age of Tranquility. At last, humanity could rest in peace. At last, their wayward dreams could take root..._


	2. Ogden's Creche

**2\. Ogden's Creche**

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He awoke with a start, and slammed both palms against his glass prison. He was trapped in a sturdy translucent coffer, unable to move or breathe. He tried screaming for help, but no sound came from his mouth. As his vision focused, he noticed a deep fissure running down the crystalline slab before him, and a cool breeze that seeped through the crack.

With all of his feeble strength, he drove his shoulder into its weak point. On his fourth try, the left side finally gave way, toppling from the coffer and shattering against the ground with an explosive echo. The man covered his head against the reverberation. Every sound was overwhelming, and his skull pounded in painful harmony. Gradually, the echo faded, allowing him to finally gather his wits.

His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. There were dozens of identical coffers lined upright against the walls, translucent and shimmering in the dim corridor. Pale figures lay within, frozen in peaceful sleep, all dressed in the same white burial garment. He too wore this simple cloth robe, and he studied the gold embroidering along its sleeves and hem, the faded color exposing its age.

The awakened man hugged the thin fabric to his emaciated body, suddenly realizing how cold it was. His breath created a fleeting haze every time he exhaled. He glanced around, as if searching for warmth, yet the corridor contained nothing but rows of coffers and some wall-mounted crystals, which gave off a heatless luminescence.

It was at that moment he noticed another light source — himself. No matter which way he turned, a faint glow fell before him, extending to about five paces. When he looked into the polished floor, the light flared back, and he fell over in astonishment.

It was coming from his face.

With a trembling hand, the man covered his forehead, and the illumination faded. Gathering his resolve, he finally touched the skin above his eyebrows and discovered a series of scars, like four incisions forming an x-shape. The pale light wavered as he traced its outline, making him more curious than alarmed.

A shiver reminded him of the frigid air, and he put aside the mystery of his mark in hopes of finding some decent clothing. He stumbled forward, feeling as though he had not walked in ages.

As he passed the crystalline caskets, he noticed many of their covers were also cracked, but their occupants remained asleep. Far above them, a web of fractures marred the otherwise seamless archways, as if a mighty tremor had nearly brought the whole structure down. A rising concern shadowed his thoughts, and the man wondered what manner of calamity had befallen this place.

Then, he came upon a curious sight. One of the ruptured coffers was empty, its glass seal scattered in pieces across the tiled floor. There was no way to tell how long it had been unoccupied, but it gave him hope, for there might be others who had awakened.

His hope quickly dissipated as a peculiar brilliance approached from another corridor, followed by a deep hum that shook his nerves. The noise instilled in him an instinctive urge to hide, and though the empty coffer was tempting, the man tucked himself between an occupied casket and a marble pillar. He curled in fear as the harsh glow drifted over the hall like a searchlight. When it fell upon the empty coffer, the hum intensified. He winced against its tormenting drone, but through squinted vision, he saw a massive figure floating overhead. Despite the pain, his eyes went wide as he beheld the divine presence.

The levitating being was made of exquisitely carved ivory, with crystal infused between the layers and joints. Its four arms and two legs ended in blunt points without hands or feet, and from its shoulder blades sprouted white tendrils similar to hair, or perhaps roots. Its smooth skull had no features, only a sunken hole in the middle of its face from which that revealing light emitted. Bars of silver encircled its hollow head like a cage, and crossed over its broad chest in an x-shape.

The man remembered little, but he knew enough to recognize the diagonal cross — a saltire, the holy symbol of Nos. This was an angel. He had never seen one before, though he had often dreamt of it.

Now that they were face to face, he was utterly terrified.

He averted his gaze as the towering creature passed over, the tiled floor vibrating in response. It scrutinized the broken casket with its gleaming socket, oblivious to his presence, and the man could not resist the chance to flee. He tried to sneak from his spot, but as he took his first steps, his bare feet squeaked against the marble.

At the slightest sound, the light swiveled towards him, casting a long shadow down the corridor. He did not bother to turn back. He simply ran.

The angel released a deafening roar. An intricate ring of light patterns encircled the man's waist, contracting in an instant. Suddenly, his legs felt as if they were frozen in place. Each step took tremendous effort, though he wore practically nothing, and he struggled to even walk. He finally dared to turn and saw the angel closing fast, its pointed legs never touching the floor.

The corridor seemed to have no end, and there was nowhere for him to hide. The encumbered man nearly fell to his knees in despair, but as his shadow drew ever closer in the approaching light, he discovered a miraculous salvation.

There was a hole in the wall.

Not wasting a moment, he dragged himself towards the triangular crack, just wide enough for him to slip through. As he escaped into the lightless tunnel, the angel bellowed again, and a powerful tremor shook the foundations. Chunks of marble and stone crumbled from above, but the man ignored them and pushed forward as the terrifying creature raged on in vain.

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* * *

.

The winding cavern went on for some time, but fortunately the angel's spell wore off in less than a minute, allowing him to move freely again. He traveled along the only path, ironically grateful for the odd light that shone from his skull, as it allowed him to see in the subterranean tunnel. He prayed it brought him to a safer place.

His prayers were interrupted as his foot touched nothing but air, and he tumbled through a hole in the ground. He somehow landed on both feet with a painful thud, cursing his inattention, then immediately froze as he realized he was not alone. Within the spacious cavern was a trio of humans, just like himself, even wearing identical clothing. His facial muscles struggled with joy as they remembered how to smile, and he approached the closest figure.

This one was hunched over facing the wall. He picked away at the grey stone, muttering softly to no one. He was so focused on his task that he did not notice the awakened man. It seemed as if he was trying to unearth the crystal veins with his bare fingers, leaving the nails rent and torn.

The sight of dark blood unnerved him, but the man gathered his resolve and laid a hand on the other's shoulder. The scratching immediately stopped. Then, the stranger turned to face him, revealing shriveled skin, sunken features, and a toothless mouth.

What truly frightened him, though, were the eyes that stared back colorless and vacant. This may have once been a man, but now, there was nothing left inside.

The withered figure lunged abruptly, causing him to stumble in surprise. He felt the bloody fingers tighten around his skull, and the man thrashed wildly in a pathetic defense, striking the cadaverous creature as it dug its thumbs into his eyes. The needles of pain that shot through his skull nearly drove him mad, and his jaw stretched into a silent scream.

He grasped frantically as panic took hold, until his fingers closed around a loose rock. He swung wide, striking the creature in the head with a sickening thud, and it released him as it crumpled to the ground. It dragged itself away, shrieks of pain spilling from its gaping maw.

The stone hung hesitantly over the man's head. He stared at the shriveled, cowering thing, and realized he felt nothing but pity for the poor wretch. Even as tears of blood dripped from his wounded eyes, he could not bring himself to loathe this miserable creature, much less end his existence. Finally, he lowered the rock and turned away.

He immediately leapt back as another vacant man slashed at him with a dagger. The gaunt figure charged with weapon raised, its crystal blade shimmering, and there were no more options. He had not the space nor time to flee, so he lunged forward with the rock extended.

He slammed the grey stone into his opponent's face, and blackened blood spurted from its collapsed nose. The sudden strike dazed the fiend, and he followed up by bludgeoning its sword-hand, causing it to drop the dagger. The blade skittered across the floor as the man dove after it, and felt his hand close around its crude stone hilt.

There was a gurgling screech behind him. He rolled onto his back with dagger raised, and the gaunt figure pounced wildly. It threw itself right onto the pointed tip, impaling its windpipe down to the man's fists. He was sickened as blood gushed from its nose, mouth, and throat alike, but even still, the persistent fiend clawed at his face, digging for his tender eyes.

He pushed back, and the dull knife slid along the creature's neck, tearing through muscles and jugular until it finally stopped struggling. Its arms wavered for a moment, then dropped as its life drained out. The man flinched away as he was covered in the thick goop, and felt like he would vomit.

It was not from the disgusting slime, nor its putrid smell, but from the fact that he had killed another. He had not only spilled their blood, but taken their very lives. This was the greatest sin against Nos, for now their cherished dreams would be lost forever.

His grieving was interrupted as the third wretch suddenly bit into his forehead. Though it had no teeth, its bony gums clamped down like a vice against his temple, and he reactively tore his blade free and stabbed it between the shoulder blades. The creature flailed against him, but its bite loosened, and he repeatedly drove the dagger down, even after it had ceased writhing.

He lost track of how long he huddled there, shivering in the cold, surrounded by corpses. The last creature ignored him and continued to cower, picking dismally at the crystal nodes without success. The man could not tear himself away from the bodies before him, unable to accept the truth of his sins. He had stolen these people's souls, ended their dreams forever. He was no longer innocent. He was a murderer.

He was a sinner. He had never sinned before, yet he had been forsaken from the Dream and forced into this nightmare. Was he being punished? What had he done to anger the benevolent Nos?

Eventually, his racing mind tired him out, and the man stared blankly at the bodies. As his eyes clouded with darkness, he suddenly noticed something else about their shriveled faces. There were four incisions in their foreheads, just like his, but they were lightless and covered with scabs.

Suddenly, his back went stiff in understanding. This is what he would become, unless he found a way to escape — a way back to the Dream.

He stood abruptly, vaguely realizing he still held the crystal dagger. He went to throw it away, but after a moment, changed his mind. He tore a strip of cloth from one of the corpses and used it to tie the weapon around his waist, praying he would not need to use it again. Then, he stumbled off into the winding tunnel.

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* * *

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As he wandered through the cave, a peculiar sight greeted him. A frail hand extended from another crack in the wall, its wrist hanging limp in the air. The man assumed it belonged to a corpse and continued past, but suddenly, the fingers twitched, and a voice reached his chilled ears.

"Ah, who's that? Is someone there? Anyone?"

He froze. Through the narrow fissure, he spotted a pale face peering back at him. It was sunken and gaunt, but not withered away like the others, and the eyes still contained a glimmer of life. More so, his forehead shone with the same strange light as his own. The man stared in astonishment at the stranger, amazed to have found another living person.

"Heavens, you're not vacant? Thank Nos you kept your wits about you. I feared I would die alone, with no one to carry on my work... But now, there's a chance..." He coughed up droplets of bright blood, and the man suddenly understood his predicament. The other side of the wall had collapsed, burying the stranger in rubble up to his chest, pinning him against the floor.

"Forgive my manners," the stranger said, wiping his lips with his sleeve. "It's been some time since I last spoke with another. My name is Tensen. I came here to... to... Oh, it doesn't matter anyways. Everything's fading from memory, like a fleeting dream. I think... I fear I will soon end up like the others, nothing but an empty shell..." After a moment of silence, Tensen asked, "What is your name, friend?"

The man opened his mouth to reply, then remembered he could not speak. "Have you forgotten your name, as well? You poor thing." This was not entirely true, for the man knew his name, he just couldn't say it. Nevertheless, he nodded.

"Listen, friend. I've a favor to ask of you. I am not long for this waking world, and I have accepted my fate. I'm not afraid to die, but it pains me to think of all my hard work being left to rot in this forsaken cave. There is little hope for me, but please... take my book. Keep it safe, do not let its knowledge go forgotten. Will you do this for me?"

The man thought for a moment, the nodded again. Tensen sighed in relief as he reached behind him. "Bless you, friend. Truly, you have the soul of a saint." He procured a thick, leather-bound tome and slid it carefully between the crack. The man took it, then the scholar reached for another item. "I would give you my catalyst as well, in return for your generosity. It's a remarkable weapon, and I'm sure someone of your intellect can put it to good use."

With that, he slid a thin silver staff through the wall, and the man accepted it with eyes wide. It was intricately designed, crafted from smaller segments joined as one, with a clear quartz crystal embedded at the top. "That will come in handy should you encounter any vacants," Tensen explained, "though it will do little against the curator. Oh, and before I forget, it's not just a staff. If you—"

Suddenly, the entire cavern resonated with a mighty bellow, and the man covered his ears in agony. Tensen cried out, barely audible beneath the deafening sound, then the stones burst apart as he was violently dragged from the wall. A blinding light flared from the crack, but that too quickly disappeared. As the cave returned to near dark, the man shuddered, the staff clutched to his chest.

The angels had taken the stranger. They would take him as well, should they ever find him. With his new possessions, the man ran aimlessly through the cavern, desperate to escape this horrible place.

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* * *

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After countless paces, he finally saw a light from above. Part of the cave's ceiling had collapsed, leaving a path of rubble to the opening. He carefully scaled the debris to find himself back in the hallways. This one held no caskets. Instead, great marble statues were displayed every few dozen feet, each one depicting some grand hero of legend. The man ignored them as he shuffled on. He could not remember their names or deeds, in any case.

Endless paths branched from the corridor, leading to even more intersections, until he became lost in the labyrinthine maze. While hesitating in the middle of four paths, he saw that fearful light drifting towards him again, and immediately dove for cover.

The ground vibrated as the angelic curator floated closer. This time, there was nowhere to hide. He wracked his brain for a solution, until finally a murky memory resurfaced. He recalled some long forgotten lessons, an exploration into the secrets of angelic magic, and realized he remembered a pair of novice spells. Despite their simplicity, they could prove useful.

He gripped the staff in both hands and desperately called upon the mystical energies that permeated this world. As he concentrated, the crystal tip of the staff echoed his thoughts, singing softly, and his bare feet became wreathed in cloudy auras. He stared in disbelief at his success, then stood without a sound. His shrouded soles would make no noise as long as the Lightfoot spell persisted.

However, that would not be enough to distract his pursuer, and the light was growing dangerously close. He quickly recited the second spell from his mind, and once more, the crystal resonated harmoniously. As it built to an audible pitch, he thrust the staff forward, and a loud echo sounded from the opposite hall, even though there was nothing there.

To his surprise and relief, the angel immediately pursued the noise, its tendrils wavering madly as it soared through the chill air. While it was distracted by his decoy spell, the man sprinted in the direction it had just come from, expecting to be illuminated at any moment by its condemning glare.

Fortunately, that moment never came, and he finally discovered a path that led to a large set of double doors. Not wasting a moment, he rushed towards them and heaved with all his might. The giant slab grated loudly against the floor, and the racket was sure to draw attention. He quickly slipped through the opening, entering a wide cubical area with an arched ceiling. It was nearly empty save for a small altar before him, which supported a simple glass basin filled with water.

He ignored it and moved towards the opposite side, where there was another set of doors. A stained-glass window sat far above, depicting a golden wheel with four spokes. This gateway was too heavy to open, but a mechanical lever sat to the side, which undoubtedly operated the thick bronze slabs.

As soon as he reached for the device, a strange haze surrounded him. He recoiled in surprise as the colorless fog coalesced around lever and door alike. When he tried to move the handle, it would not budge. He stepped back in alarm, realizing this was a trap, and turned to flee the room. However, the mist had already solidified within the exit, and the corridor was obscured from sight. He sprinted forward, attempting to push through the fog, but despite its gaseous form the haze would not yield.

Then, he felt vibrations beneath his feet, and his blood went cold. He retreated from the misty gate as the drone increased, then finally, the celestial curator floated through the haze uninhibited. It fixed its singular eye upon the mortal, and released a deafening shriek.

There was nowhere to hide, no more deceptions to save him. He was trapped.

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* * *

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 **Appendix**

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 **Aural** **Decoy** — A spell taught to novice scholars. Creates a distracting noise from a distance, and is quite handy to those who wish to avoid a fight. Though the scholars of Falmour learned to manipulate sound long ago, they saw little potential in its use.

 **Lightfoot** — A spell taught to novice scholars. Wreathes the caster's feet in shrouds of silence, allowing them to move undetected. Despite its name, this seemingly harmless spell draws influence from dark magic.

 **Quartz Dagger** — A crude dagger crafted from quartz and stone. This colorless crystal is treasured by scholars for its unique properties, though its brittleness makes for a poor choice in melee weaponry.

 **Seal of Awakening** — A peculiar seal etched into the foreheads of those who slumbered. It emits a soft glow, and inexplicably binds them to the eternal Dream. Only True Death may release the awakened, but who would wish to escape paradise?

 **Tensen's Journal** — A leather-bound tome written by Tensen, an apprentice from Falmour. The secrets of the angels have been long sought by scholars, and many risked trespassing to discover them. However, few return to share their revelations.

 **Walk of Peace** — A divine miracle that burdens the guilty, preventing them from fleeing. Sins weigh heavily on the soul, so why not the flesh as well?


	3. Eye of Ogden

**3\. Eye of Ogden**

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His first instinct was to run, to cower in fear from the terrifying angel, but then he realized something. He desired nothing more than to return to the dream, to the everlasting grace of Nos, and now a servant of the divine stood before him. Perhaps it had come to answer his prayer? Would it not hear his reason, or sympathize with his plight? Perhaps it only sought to return him to his glass cradle, and he had simply misunderstood everything.

The tension from his muscles faded, and he finally released his breath in a frosty cloud. The curator was not his pursuer, after all, but his savior.

As it approached, the angel's eye shone brilliantly, and a burning spear of golden light suddenly seared towards him. He threw himself aside as it collided with the heavy gate, singing its metal doors. The foundations rumbled while the stained-glass window shattered to bits, raining jagged shards across the floor.

As dust and debris drifted down like snow, he accepted the cold and bitter truth. They would not let him return to sleep. He was forsaken. He had sinned, and this angel was his judgment.

The sudden threat of a final death brought too many questions to mind, and no time to ask them, for the armored goliath was attacking again. Instead of another arrow, there was a familiar hum, and a ring of light encircled him once more. He panicked as his legs grew heavy, realizing he would not be able to dodge, and the ivory creature hovered forward without mercy.

Denied his only defense, the man had no choice but to attack. He gripped his dagger in desperation, but suddenly recalled another long-forgotten lesson, another novice spell, one so obvious that he could hardly believe he'd overlooked it. With a rush of conviction, he thrust his crystal-tipped staff forward, casting a similar arrow of light towards the angel at blinding speeds.

The spell raced through the chill air, struck the angel's chest, and instantly vanished. The projectile barely scratched the ivory armor and did nothing to stop its approach. He balked as the angel responded with another flash, and a spear of light seared directly at the center of his chest. He could not lift his feet, so he reactively dropped to his knees and covered himself in a pathetic defense.

Fortunately, his cowering actually worked, and the spell's heat grazed his back as it flew overhead. It burst across the marble wall and blackened its pristine tiles, while the mortal dared to raise his quivering gaze.

There was a third flash of light as another spear launched, this time aimed at his feet. In a rush of panic, he stood to run, but the angel's tranquil spell had yet to wear off, and his legs dragged uselessly against the floor as it erupted beneath him. The man was flung through the air and slammed against an unrelenting wall, where he collapsed in a heap, arms and legs numb, vision swimming.

This time, he did not try to stand, for it was of no use. He was powerless in the presence of this divine being. His spells were nullified, his strength inferior. There was no point in fighting any longer. As the light drew closer, the man shut his eyes and curled into a ball, hugging the staff to his chest for comfort.

His hand brushed a moving segment at the top of the catalyst, and despite the gripping hopelessness, curiosity got the better of him. He opened one eye to inspect the silver cane, discovering a thin ring lying just below the crystalline pommel. Suddenly, from the dim memories of his mortal life, he recalled this style of weapon, a unique invention from the scholars of Falmour.

More importantly, he remembered how to use it.

Moving by instinct, he twisted the ring and swung, and the segments of the staff separated to form a chained whip. The silver rods struck the angel's hip with blunt force, emitting a sharp crack as it connected with its crystal veins, visibly surprising the guardian. It glided backwards across the floor in sudden alarm, filling the man with a dangerous confidence, and he rose to press the attack. He ignored his heavy footsteps as he charged forward.

The curator's cavernous face began to glow once again, but before it could cast its light spear, the mortal flipped his staff around and thrust it forward. The segments shot straight like a lance, and though his strength may have been lacking, his aim was true. The metal staff penetrated the cyclopean eye, causing the angel to recoil with a shriek as its spell dissipated.

However, his opponent instantly recovered and glided towards him in alarming speed. He held up a hand in a useless defense as it swung one of its metallic appendages, striking him with its blunt side and sending him sprawling across the floor. He winced in agony as multiple ribs stabbed his insides, shattered and broken. He could not draw breath, and barely rose to his feet a second time.

He managed to glance up as the brilliance returned, and stared aghast when not one but three spears of light exploded from the angel's face, all arcing towards him as if drawn to his terror. As they drew near, time slowed to crawl, and the man gave a hopeless prayer for aid, though he knew in his soul that Nos had already abandoned him.

To his astonishment, his legs were miraculously freed. The angel's burdening curse wore off at the last second, and the man rolled between the shrieking projectiles, their relentless heat grazing his chilled skin. As he got close, the angel swung again, flailing with both its right arms, but he ducked and lashed back to strike its other leg. There was an echoing crack as the floating figure wobbled uncertainly.

He knew his strategy, now. He followed up with another strike on the same leg, then quickly dove out of reach. He circled, waiting for its counterattack, and sure enough the angel raised its four arms as the familiar hum returned. Before it could curse him with slowness, he swung with all the might he could muster, striking its leg with a powerful blow. Its focus was interrupted, so he took advantage with a second swing, then a third, always in the same spot.

He drew back for a fourth swing, when suddenly the angel raised its arm as well, preparing to jab at him with a finishing strike. The man froze, his legs screaming at him to run, though his arm told him to follow through. He made a split-second decision, and hoped it was the right one. He shut his eyes, gave a silent scream, and swung.

Something shattered as the angel cried out in anguish, wisps of light escaping its injured socket, then the mighty being collapsed to one knee. Its metallic shell struck the floor as it steadied itself with its four arms, unused to the sudden gravity, and its head bowed low. The man saw his chance. He drew his dagger and rushed to claim victory.

The angel raised its hollowed face just as the crystal blade plunged into its skull.

For a split second, the divine being did not react. Then, it arced backwards with a furious howl, violently twitching as golden mist fountained from its punctured eye. The giant toppled onto its back, limbs flailing like an overturned insect, and the man watched in silence as its life seeped away.

To his surprise, the creature abruptly righted itself, landing on all six appendages. It thrashed its head around, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge the dagger as it trampled the ground in fury. He took a wary step back from the rampaging angel, but on his first footstep, its head spun directly towards him.

He balked as the angel charged, and barely avoided it at the last moment. He rolled to the side, but even as he came to his feet, a limb lashed out and shattered more of his ribs. The man crumpled to the ground with a gasp, feeling the last of the air rush from his lungs as cold blood seeped in. He raised a shaking arm in retaliation, but the wounded angel was faster. Another limb shot straight out and thrust its blunt point into the center of his chest, sending the frail mortal flying.

As the man's skull cracked against the marble floor, he realized he was dead. His ribcage had fully collapsed, and his heart had been ruptured. Blood flowed, an internal torrent that filled his lungs and flooded his muscles. The liquid was no longer chilling and congealed, but a burning river that consumed his soul.

The mortal found it strange that this life had been so cold, but upon death, he felt only warmth.

There was another shriek as the angel brought its arm down, and the man instinctively rolled aside to avoid it. He came to his feet, blinking in amazement, entirely unsure how he was still moving. The shock froze him in place, and the angel spun furiously, seeking him out. It swung its limbs blindly, and despite his confusion, the man made a sudden revelation.

He had blinded the angel. It was attacking him based on sound.

Not wasting a moment, he cast his Lightfoot spell again, and the twin auras returned to his feet. He circled the curator silently as it searched for him, ethereal mist still steaming from its wound. Then, it turned to face the ceiling. As its ivory body began convulsing, smaller spears of light exploded in every direction, raining down like a hailstorm of divine vengeance.

The arrows fell aimlessly, but were so numerous that the man could not stand still. He dove and weaved through the bombardment, though a few grazed his flesh painfully, until he was close enough to use his cane. He could only swing once before the arrows ceased, and a metal arm flew in his direction. He tumbled sideways, circling the angel and avoiding its assault, thrashing relentlessly with his silver whip.

All he could see was red. He realized his skull was cracked, trickling fluids down his face in a steady stream. His lethal injuries should have ended him, yet the rush of burning blood only fueled the man's frenzy, driving him into a blind rage. The giant's arms and legs descended upon him like blunt guillotines, but he slipped through its heavy steps unscathed, giving little thought for his own safety.

An ivory arm rose above his head, but the man did not move. He struck wildly with his whip — once, twice, three times against its skull, barely denting the impenetrable shell. Its blunted appendage crashed down inches beside him, pulverizing the marble floor with the strength of its blow, then it was still.

As the dust settled, the man stared into the angel's hollowed visage with a shiver, the last wisps of life escaping into the chill air. The gaping hole stared back as if in surprise, then the golem slumped forward, devoid of light.

He had done it. He had slain an angel.

Now, his soul was truly damned.

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* * *

.

Time passed without measure as he stood in the silent room, staring at the vacant shell before him. He could not convince himself this was real, that he had actually defeated the celestial guardian. He was just a man, a simple scholar, yet he survived blows that should have killed him a dozen times over. He had brought down an angel. For a moment, he wondered if he was still dreaming, perhaps in another nightmare. None of this should have been possible.

His eyes were caked in dried blood, and he finally wiped them clean with his arm wrapping. Then, he touched his fractured crown with his fingertips, and held them up to study the fresh fluids. Slowly, the pieces came together.

He thought his soul damned for killing another, for spilling the blood of his fellow man. This was a blasphemous act, an unforgivable trespass against Nos. Why, then, had God's servant spilled _his_ blood?

The longer he stared at the angel's corpse, the more he suspected something was terribly wrong, something worse than he had previously thought. The angels would never spill the blood of man, even a sinner... _especially_ a sinner. They were not allowed to do so even on accident, yet that golem had not hesitated to crush him. In such a case, if it no longer served Nos, could he even call it an angel?

Then, he considered the alternative. Perhaps the benevolent Nos had changed his mind?

The man immediately shook the unfathomable thought from his mind, and jolted back to reality. He glanced around suddenly, as if forgetting where he was, and dimly realized the fog blocking the exits had long since vanished. He stared back down the endless corridor he had come from, leading back to the labyrinth of crystal caskets and their dreamers, then back to the battered gate. It did not matter what had transpired while he slept. He needed to escape this place, and find somewhere safe to think.

His eyes were drawn back to the basin that sat before the corridor, with its sapphire decanter resting on top. Somehow, it had made it through the battle undamaged. The man licked his cracked lips, unable to resist his sudden thirst, and moved quickly to scoop the shimmering waters into his mouth. It tasted pure, invigorating him, washing away the wear of battle. His body was still battered, but his broken bones ached less, and his blackened skin burned no more.

He gasped as he guzzled the soothing waters, drinking until he could drink no more, then finally leaned back. He was puzzled to find the basin still full, bringing an involuntary flicker to the corner of his lips. After a moment, he finally took the sapphire flask and filled it with the endless waters before parting.

Feeling refreshed, the man stepped towards the mechanical lever, gathered his resolve, then gripped it with both hands and pulled. Gears clicked together, turning with a groan as if they had not worked in ages, and the massive gate creaked open. However, no light shone through as they parted, and the hesitant figure stared into the outside world with uncertainty.

There was a short staircase leading down to the rocky ground, only to end abruptly in a steep cliff. Cautiously, the man approached the edge, and stared out to see nothing but endless sky and sea, both shadowed by the shroud of night. There were no stars above, only iridescent clouds blanketing as far as they eye could see. It was not at all what he had expected, but it was a sight nonetheless, and he could not help but stare at the shifting aurora in awe.

Eventually, he tore himself away from the beautiful view, and gathered enough bravery to look straight down. As he expected, the cliff face dropped steeply without ending, offering nothing but jagged rocks leading down into the fathomless oceans. The only path was to his left, a seemingly natural formation that zigzagged up the crag, which continued to climb straight into the clouds themselves. The man leaned back as he followed its towering height, and nearly lost his balance.

He stepped back in startlement from the ledge, suddenly glaring at it with apprehension, and tried not to think about a fall from this height. Then, he noticed some markings on the ground where he had been standing a moment earlier. Someone had carved a message directly into the rock itself, and he leaned close as he tried to read its crude etchings.

 _Damnation ahead_

 _Go back to sleep_

His footsteps felt heavier again as he made his way up the winding path.

.

* * *

.

As he cleared the first crest, he beheld a peculiar sight. Before him was a wide plateau presenting a meadow of birch trees and sparse vegetation, with a clearing of rocks in the middle. The stones were placed in consecutive circles, too concise to be natural, and in the center was a softly glowing lamp about waist-high. Its light reflected off the glazed rocks and frosted trees, and illuminated a strange figure seated next to it.

The man eyed this stranger warily, who noticed him at the same time. A tricornered hat shadowed his features, and he was clothed in mismatched traveling gear, with different colored gloves and boots. They stared at each other in silence, and he was unsure if he should flee, though there was nowhere to run. He waited for the stranger to make a move, and to his surprise, the other man chuckled.

"Well, what have we here?" he asked in astonishment. "You must be newly awakened, as well. Let me guess... bad dreams? Seems like we're all having them." The stranger studied him with a raised eyebrow, noticing the metal staff gripped tightly in both hands. "Don't be alarmed, friend. I'm not looking for a fight. Come, sit by the lamplight and bask in its warmth."

Eventually, he relented and followed the other man's suggestion. He took a seat by the beacon and imitated the stranger's posture, getting a nod of approval. "So you can see it, too. Thank Nos. The last bloke claimed there was nothing here. Damned sorcerer made me think I was going mad. Oh..." He paused as he eyed the silver cane and dusty tome. "Meant no offense, if you're inclined to that sort of thing. Nothing wrong with scholarly pursuits, though I never had the wits for it myself. Name's Morrow, friend. What's yours?"

The man shrugged helplessly in response. "Ah, cold got yer tongue?" Morrow spoke enough for them both. "Well, at any rate, you should feel proud. Few find their way from Ogden's Creche, and even fewer dare to step a foot beyond. I myself am hesitant to travel past this campsite, to be honest. It's just... I haven't quite seen anything like this lamp before, and its light is so comforting. Wouldn't you agree?"

He nodded silently in response and stared into the shimmering beacon before them. Its four crystal panes were encased in an ivory chassis, and though it contained nothing inside, an ethereal gleam shone from within. It was topped by a silver bell, which resonated in an airy tone as if tickled by the light.

"I've no idea who built it," his new companion mused, "But bless their thoughtfulness. It's given me a respite from this harsh land. Speaking of which, I suggest you rest a while if you plan on venturing any further. The way things are now, you may be better off asleep than walking amongst the awoken. But you strike me as the venturous type, am I not wrong?"

Without waiting for an answer, the stranger yawned and tilted his hat forward, covering most of his face. "I think I'll get some shut eye as well. Let us pray for pleasant dreams this time."

The silent man continued to stare through the translucent glass, entranced by the patterns reflecting against its interior. He could not resist its allure, and vaguely wondered where the light came from as he drifted into a different kind of sleep.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Sapphire Flask** — A flask containing blessed waters. Restores health and vitality. The waters which flow from the Well of Attunement never run dry, and are said to be the medium between life and death. Perhaps this is why mortals treasure it so.

 **Silver** **Cane** — A multipurpose tool designed by the scholars of Falmour. Its quartz pommel serves as a catalyst for sorceries, while the cane separates into a whip. Keeping enemies at range proves crucial for a scholar's survival.

 **Soul** **Arrow** — The simplest offensive sorcery. Fires an arrow of white soul energy, which is effective against physically resilient material. Soul sorcery is the purest form of magic, and is considered superior to elemental energy.

 **Soul Shower** — A sorcery that fires numerous soul arrows from above. Although weaker than a single arrow, it can deal immense damage to those caught in close quarters. This spell has caused many a brave warrior to think twice about approaching scholars with hostility.

 **Soul Spear** — An advanced sorcery that fires a focused spear of souls. Its immense energy penetrates nearly all defenses, and injures the very essence of life itself. Only the most learned scholars can hope to master this spell, which is rumored to harm even the angels themselves.

* * *

 **Eye of Ogden:** deviantart (dankbouls87/art/Eye-of-Ogden-768952737)


	4. Mirrorlink Shrine

**4\. Mirrorlink Shrine**

.

When he awoke, he was somewhere else entirely.

The man rose drowsily as confusion set in. He stared about, certain that he had fallen asleep mere moments ago, resting beside his new companion. Now, suddenly, he found himself at the top of a steep mountain peak, on a plateau of worn stone and fresh green grass. For a moment, he ignored everything else and ran his fingers through the gentle blades, unable to recall the last time he had done so.

Besides the grass, there was an enormous white tree that reached far into the dark sky, its knotted branches barren and mangled. It was dying, withered down to the roots, and even the rocks around it were loosened and falling apart. Encircling the tree was a series of stone archways, each one bearing a unique design. These too showed signs of decay, however, and most were broken in half or crumbled away entirely, their engravings lost to time.

Within the archways was also a bubbling well, its clear waters contained by a ring of seamless stone. The fountain was carved entirely from one piece, and unlike the rest of the pinnacle, it was in pristine condition, showing not even a crack along its masterfully crafted design. Etched in the sides were impressions of animal heads — a lion, a wolf, a hawk, a serpent, and more — which trickled rivulets of water from their mouths, streaming down the mountainside and blessing it with fertile growth.

He stood abruptly as he noticed another's presence. A woman stood before the well, dressed in a plain grey robe with her back to him. All he could see of her was shimmering raven hair, woven into a four-strand braid that fell below her knees. She chanted softly as if in prayer, and the man stepped closer to listen, unable to resist the temptation.

"Wayward dreams, forgotten echoes of the soul's longing, hear mine voice. Shed light and cast thine shadow, take root within me. Find peace within these placid waters. Retreat to the emptiness beyond our will, where the vanquished assume new form..."

Her chanting suddenly ceased. The hairs of his neck stood on end as the woman turned to look directly at him, even though her eyes were concealed behind a diamond tiara. Her blue-tinged lips were slightly parted, not in astonishment or concern, for it was all but impossible to judge her fair expression. Then, she spoke in a melodious voice.

"Art thou an awakened? Or merely another figment of mine imagination?"

He could not help but stare in awe at her ethereal beauty. She held out a single, fragile hand, and the man approached without fear, extending his own in greeting. As they touched, he realized her fingers were incredibly shriveled and pruned, like an old maid's, which stood in stark contrast with her ageless face.

"Yes, I see," she nodded, returning her hand to her side. "Thou art indeed lucid. I welcome thee, Lucid One, to the Well of Attunement. I am the Well Maiden. I have tended to these waters for ages past, and shall also tend to thee, if thou'st want."

The man looked past her to the well, entranced by its pure waters. The surface reflected the world to perfection, marred only by a constant ripple that extended outwards from the center. After a moment, he realized there was a steady pulse that coincided with the ripple, as if the mountain itself had a beating heart.

"A great calamity hath befallen the kingdom," the maiden addressed him gravely. "The Watchers have failed in their duties, and the Demons' curse yet awakens. Only a true champion can undertake the quest to halt the destruction, and restore peace to the land. Tell me, Lucid One, art thou a champion?"

He hesitated before admitting the truth.

"Then thou must become one. To this end, thou must retrieve the remnants of the Lordbrandts, the divine blades wielded by the Four Watchers. Only these may put the Demons to rest."

Then, the Well Maiden turned and made her way through one of the fallen archways, leading to a path down the mountainside. She glanced back at the silent figure. "Please follow me, Lucid One. There is another who would wish to speak to thee."

.

* * *

.

He followed her down a broken staircase, built directly into the mountain itself. It spiraled around the steep crags, and the pair made at least two loops before coming to a massive opening in the rocky face. There were great bars embedded into the stone, each one nearly as wide as the man himself, but he barely noticed their presence. Instead, he stared past them to what they contained.

Beyond the barred window was a massive cavern, churning with flame and noise. It was furnished like a blacksmith's shop, complete with anvil and smelter, but enlarged to incredible proportions. Hunched over the forge was an impossibly large figure, his gargantuan size dwarfing his surroundings. He had skin like molten metal, and gouts of lava burst from cracks in his flesh. He head was encased in a golden helm, with vertical slits for sight, and from its collar stretched a thick gold chain that bound him to the wall. In his fist, a weighty hammer rose and fell with steady precision. It never faltered in its rhythm, at least until the Well Maiden spoke softly.

"Volk, an awakened hath come to visit us."

She was barely audible beneath the giant's din, but he heard her nevertheless, and ceased his hammering. He slowly shifted his massive frame to face them, causing the ground to quake. _"Oh?"_ his gravelly voice rumbled through the mountainside. _"You bring weapons? I forge weapons. Make whole."_

"No, Volk," the Wall Maiden spoke patiently. "He is new. Thou must speak of the Lordbrandts."

" _Oh,"_ the faceless giant echoed. _"I am Volk. Titan smith. You find weapons. Lordbrandts. I make whole. Lordbrandts broken. Xyne, Abator, betray us. You find weapons. I make whole. I make right."_

The man could not believe his eyes. He was seeing an actual titan, something he had only heard of in myths. He could barely think, much less nod, but he could not refuse this godlike being.

" _You take."_ The giant lifted a small tray between his rugged fingers, and it seemed like he might crush the thin metal, but he placed it carefully on the barred windowsill without incident. The tray held a small emerald flask, similar to his sapphire one, but filled with a glowing gold substance instead of water.

 _"Estus. It help you. Make strong."_ The man reached through the bars to retrieve the emerald flask, finding it quite warm to the touch, and nodded in thanks. To his surprise, the titan returned the gesture, causing his heavy chain to groan and shake the mountain's walls.

As the great golem of flame and metal shifted his bulk back to the forge, the man noticed something peculiar about his leg. The majority of the titan's bronze skin was covered in golden slabs, resembling patchwork armor, yet his left leg was encased in charred silver instead. It was the only mismatched piece of armor on his person. Sturdy rods ran along the thigh and shin guards, and were fastened into his very flesh. When the blacksmith turned, he dragged this silver leg across the floor with a grinding screech.

"Come," the Well Maiden interrupted his observations. "Our time grow'th short, and thou must soon return to the waking world." She led him back up the spiraling stairs, and soon, the blacksmith's hammer faded to a distant beat.

.

* * *

.

As they ascended the narrow mountain, the man looked upward, and realized the sky was no longer there. There were no clouds, no sun or stars. All around them was pitch black, an impenetrable void that isolated the precipice. He looked far below, but could only see similar spiky mountains, forming a long ridge that stretched far into the shadows and out of sight. The only source of illumination was the shrine itself, especially the glistening white tree, which shined like a beacon of hope amidst the emptiness.

As the maiden resumed her place beside the well, she spoke, "Lucid One, thou shalt soon awaken. Please, find solace in the dream while thou'st able, and take what thou would for nourishment. The waters of this well are pure, and shall always flow for thee."

The man gladly obliged, and drank from the plentiful fountain. His body was perfectly fine in this dream, reverted to its natural state, no longer broken and burned by the angel's divine wrath. The waters refreshed his body, but that was not what truly ailed him. He suffered from a lack of understanding, from a dearth of knowledge. It was not that he doubted this innocent maiden, he simply did not understand.

As he sat beside the well, he recalled that his personal effects were still about him. His fingers passed over the sapphire flask and silver cane, then fell upon the leather-bound book, which he still had not opened. With time to spare, he realized he may not get another chance, and looked inside. To his dismay, the writing was in some foreign language, and the rough sketches granted him only a vague understanding of its contents. It was a hand-written journal, likely authored by Tensen, the scholar who had gifted it to him. There were intricate designs and symbols that filled entire pages, no doubt transcriptions of divine miracles, and the man sorely wished he could decipher their meaning.

With a faint hope, he turned to the Well Maiden to show her the pages. She offered no reaction behind her diamond tiara, but eventually bowed her head. "My apologies, Lucid One. I know'th not the mortal language, but perhaps the little snake might be able to assist thee. He is said to speak many tongues. He rests within the spirit tree, if thou wish to seek his counsel."

.

* * *

.

With renewed optimism, the man approached the great tree, peering through its leafless branches for this supposed snake. However, he spotted nothing but vines and bell-blossoms wrapped around its peeling trunk. He circled a few times, looking high and low, until he caught the faint flicker of a purple tongue. He found the creature coiled around the base of the branches, just long enough for the tip of its tail to rest beneath its hairless chin. Its leather skin was an ivory white, blending in perfectly with the bleached bark, and violet crescents tipped each scale in a shimmering display of vibrancy.

"Hmm? And who are you, to stand so boldly before a coiled serpent?"

The man was taken aback. Despite the Well Maiden's description, he had not entirely expected the snake to talk, and stared dumbfounded in response. The creature's voice carried a youthful tenor, elegant yet brimming with confidence, neither deep as a man's nor soft as a woman's. "Speak, mortal. What would you ask of me?" His reason escaped him, and he could only manage a slight shrug.

"Well, aren't you an odd one," the serpent mused in a languid tone. "Most mortals keep their distance when they spot a snake. They think us evil things, bred for cruelty and deception, but that is not true! You can always spot a liar by his nervous speech, his blinking eyes, his sweaty palms. We snakes never blink, and we never sweat. We are God's most honest creatures, to be sure."

Ironically, the man blinked, but could not find fault in the creature's logic. "What is your name, manling?" He shrugged again helplessly. "Do you not have a name?" After a slight hesitation, he nodded. "Can you not speak?" He cast his eyes to the ground involuntarily, and shook his head in shame.

"How curious. Well, in any case, you can call me Ryn, and I will admit that I find your company more tolerable than most. Your eyes are open, your gaze unwavering... quite like a serpent's, in fact... Tell you what, manling. You needn't ask anything of me. Just bring me whatever fancies you, and I shall do the talking."

The man gripped the journal's spine, but hesitated despite himself. Finally, he raised it for the serpent to see. "Hm, a book?" Ryn raised its head in mild curiosity. "How quaint. Place it in the branches before me. Don't be afraid, I won't bite."

Despite the unnerving assurance, he steeled himself and obliged. He nestled its open cover into the branches until it stuck fast, then stepped back as the snake used its tail to flip lazily through the pages. "Ah, a journal, no doubt kept by some foolhardy explorer. It seems he ventured into the Creche of his own accord, hoping to learn the secrets of the angels, but dug too deep and angered the Eye of Ogden. Those are not the sort of angels to grant mercy, you know."

The man subconsciously held his side, remembering the angel's mercy all too well. "Surprisingly," Ryn continued, "He still managed to transcribe some of their miracles. Such divine insight will take time to decipher, but I assure you, it will all be ready on your next return."

Although this creature had given him no reason for distrust, the man was reluctant to part with the journal. "Oh, come now," the serpent admonished him. "I would never lie to you, friend. My eyes remain open, and as they say, eyes are windows to the soul."

.

* * *

.

As he returned to the Well Maiden, she gazed at him with a blank expression, though the air around her felt ready to snap with tension. "Lucid One, thou must awaken now," she spoke somberly. "The harmony doth quickly fade. I beg of thee, inherit thy destiny. Relieve the Watchers of their duties, and return the Demons to the depths from whence they came.

"To recover the first shard, thou must seek the Four Cardinals, secluded within the Basilica of Saint Andros. The path is guarded by divine protection, which can only be broken by ringing the Bells of Clarity in unison. The path shall be arduous, and the journey deadly, but thou must persevere for all our sakes."

As a thousand questions raced through his mind, with no way to voice them, the world suddenly began to spin and blur. The man rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision of the murky haze, but he was overcome by a debilitating slumber. The last thing he heard before collapsing was a distant chime, ringing faint and steady in a single unwavering tone.

.

* * *

.

He bolted upright, blinking away the slight frost that formed around his lashes. He was back in the white birch forest, seated beside the shining beacon. It was still night, as far as he could tell, as if no time had passed since his slumber.

The only difference was that the stranger, Morrow, was nowhere to be found. In his place was a folded note, pinned down by a prism of clear-white crystal. The man picked up the prism and turned it over, noticing a strip of pale cloth tied around its center, then carefully unfolded the letter. To his surprise, he recognized this language, though he struggled to recall the symbols. As he sat and studied, their meaning eventually became clear to him.

 _"Nameless One,"_ it addressed him. _"Please don't think me rude. I awoke blessed with motivation, and could not afford to squander it. I have gone ahead to see where this trail may lead. You can try to catch up, if you're feeling brave. Best of luck to you."_

He felt equally elated and dejected at the same time. He had made a friend, but that friend had disappeared into the unknown. As he read the letter a second time, he lingered on the title. In such a short amount of time, he had acquired so many names. Awakened, Lucid One, Nameless One... None of these were his true name, though. He could not tell anyone what it was, but he would always remember it, at least.

The man repeated it to himself, just to be sure, then rose from his resting spot. He pocketed the strange crystal as he stared up the cliffs, piercing through the veil of roiling clouds, and readied himself for the long climb ahead.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Emerald Flask** — A flask that contains a peculiar elixir called Estus. Restores stamina and spirit. The origin of Estus is shrouded in mystery, but its effects are undeniably useful. Its invigorating warmth fuels the soul, pushing it beyond supposed boundaries.

 **White Soapstone Shard** — A relic of ancient times. When broken, it can summon the aid of a pale phantom. The soapstones are said to be blessed crystals, and resonate across time and space.


	5. Nascent Cliffs

**5\. Nascent Cliffs**

.

The Lucid One hugged his emaciated frame as he scaled the soaring mountain. The trees had become scarce the further he climbed, evidence of some great deforestation, and left him with little cover from the frigid winds. A haze escaped his lungs whenever he breathed, but regardless of the cold, he pressed onward. He had been charged with a sacred mission, and was determined to see it through. He had surely been chosen by Nos Himself for this quest. What else could explain his sudden invulnerability?

He was still perplexed at how quickly he had recovered from his fight against the crazed angel. His broken ribs and ruptured organs were whole once more, and the only sign their battle had even occurred was the tattered white gown that clung to his body. Still, the memory of their battle worried him. Something terrible had afflicted that divine being, and he doubted it was alone in its madness. Whatever caused this curse most likely lay ahead, waiting for him.

With a steadying breath, the man continued his ascent into the unknown.

.

* * *

.

As he crested a steep slope, he came upon a decrepit village, with battered shacks barely able to keep upright. Broken carts and withered bodies littered the dirt path, and his eyes were immediately drawn to a corpse wrapped in heavy fur robes. Without hesitation, the Lucid One rushed beside the fallen figure and began tugging at the clothes, desperate for warmth. The frost had nearly turned them solid, but after some struggling, he managed to free the shirt and cloak. He gratefully forced them over his gown, ignoring their uncomfortable rigidness.

He went to take the leggings, then stared down at the decaying corpse, feeling a sudden wave of guilt for plundering its remaining shreds of dignity. Stealing was a sin, especially from the defenseless dead, but he reasoned that he had the greater need. The robes would do no good wasting away in the cold, and besides, this man had been left to the elements, forsaken by his kin. He had certainly fallen out of favor with Nos. If anything, this was a charity, a chance to redeem himself from his untimely fate.

The Lucid One tore the leggings off and kicked his feet through, breaking the icy sheen that covered the fur. Dressed properly at last, he pulled the hood over his head and resumed his march along the rocky trail.

As he rounded the corner, he caught movement, and quickly ducked behind an outcrop. Ahead of him was a small gathering of gaunt figures, identical to the ones that attacked him in the tunnels. They shuffled about aimlessly, occasionally striking at the dilapidated shacks with their crude tools. It almost looked like they were trying to repair it, though they only managed to cause further damage. Just beyond the broken huts was a lopsided bridge spanning a great fissure. It was the only way forward.

He counted six figures total — three wandering around the shacks, three more on the bridge. The man gripped his silver cane tighter, devising a strategy. The vacant beings outnumbered him, but he could outsmart them. If he drew the first trio to the corner, he could bottleneck them and keep them at bay with his whip. Gathering his resolve, he rushed from cover and charged.

One of the mindless husks noticed him immediately, and let out a wail to warn the others. The Lucid One prepared himself as they raised their sickles and hammers, but before either side could act, something enormous plummeted from the sky and crashed onto the bridge. The earth trembled beneath their feet, causing the man to topple over, and he stared up in terror at the monstrous beast.

He had heard tales of dragons, but never believed they existed. Now, one loomed over him, its massive wingspan blotting out the very sky, every bit a monster as the stories said. Azure scales glistened in the rays of light, as did rows of fangs curving from its gaping maw. Two muscular legs ended in wicked talons, which crushed the unfortunate figures against the splintering bridge. A serpentine tail ended in a cluster of sharp spikes, and its spiny wings fanned outward like the fins of a fish.

Its most prominent feature, however, was a single white eye that lay in the center of its skull, glowing with intensity. It glared straight at the Lucid One, and his heart sank as its frilled jaws began to quiver. Crackling energy leapt from its dagger-teeth, and the man felt his neck-hairs rising with static alarm.

He barely had enough time to throw himself into one of the shacks before electric blue light tore across the path. He cowered as a deafening peal shook the mountainside, certain that he would be incinerated at any moment. Then, as soon as it began, the squall ended, and there was a heavy beating of wings as the dragon took to the skies once more with a shriek.

It took him a while to find his resolve, but he eventually uncurled himself and peered out the doorway. Burnt wood and smoldering bodies were all that remained. He retreated back into the safety of the hut, when he suddenly realized he was not alone.

Leaning against the far corner was an imposing figure, their face obscured by a low pointed hat and bandana pulled tight around their face. They were dressed in foreign clothes, with a split-tailed coat over an embroidered shirt, and loose leggings ending in heavy leather boots. One gloved hand gripped a broad blade, its steel blackened with soot, while the other held a whetstone in mid-stroke. Dark eyes glinted dangerously beneath the folded brim, as if daring him to make a move.

"Stay your hand, stranger." The Lucid One was shocked to hear a woman's voice, stern and demanding. "I seek no quarrel with you, but I won't hesitate to strike you down if necessary. Best be on your way."

He turned back to the charred doorway, reluctant to step out into the open again. He had no doubt her threat was sincere, but it paled in comparison to what the dragon had to offer.

The woman let out a mirthful grunt as she resumed sharpening her blade. "The drake's scared you witless, eh? Have no fear. It only circles around every so often to hunt. It shan't return for some time. Hurry along now, while you've the chance."

Despite the certainty in her voice, the man remained still. The whetstone paused again as she stared at him with deepening suspicion. "Why do you not answer? Speak, stranger. Only the guilty have reason to be silent."

The Lucid One shrugged helplessly and gestured to his throat. At last, her grip on the sword softened, and her dark eyes widened in understanding. "You... you cannot talk? Forgive me, I meant no disrespect. I sometimes forget my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Serise of Carthania, at your service. I would welcome you to write down your thoughts, but alas, I never learned to read. Seems we all have our faults, no?" She gave a cynical chuckle at her own joke.

He smiled weakly, then glanced around in uncertainty, wishing there was a better way of communicating. After a moment, he pointed upward towards the mountain in hopes that she might understand.

"Of course. You seek the basilica, yes?" The Lucid One nodded again, surprised and relieved. "I expected as much. You awakened are all the same. Blindly following one another's footsteps along the path of saints. Whatever lies behind those walls must be special indeed, to risk your very soul. Though, I suppose any fate is better than joining the vacant ones."

His relief quickly faded into confusion as he received more information than he expected. He pointed towards Serise, who snorted in disdain. "Me? No, I care not for the pilgrimage. I'm here to... Well, let's just say my reasons are personal. Nothing to concern yourself with."

The knightess finally lay her sword down, resting it beside a barbed steel shield. "Forgive my rudeness, but I must try and get some rest. It seems ages since I last slept. Good luck on your journey, stranger. I fear you may need it."

As she covered her eyes with the pointed hat, the Lucid One departed from the hut in a daze. If the woman spoke true, he was not the first to tread this path, and if so, then something must have caused the others to fail. He would not have been awakened had they succeeded.

He wondered just how many footsteps he traced, and to what fate they would lead. Regardless, he resumed his journey, for there was nowhere else to go but up.

.

* * *

.

The bridge was barely intact after suffering the weight of the drake, leaving just enough room for him to find a foothold. The man clung precariously to the railing as he shuffled over the bottomless chasm, too terrified to look down. Even with his newfound durability, he knew that such a fall would seal his fate for good.

He dared to breathe again once his feet were back on solid ground. After taking a moment to compose himself, he trekked on along the spiraling path, passing by more decaying buildings and bodies. A massive stone church hung over the cliff's edge, seemingly torn in half by some unfathomable force, poised to plunge into oblivion.

At the next bend, the Lucid One glanced cautiously from behind a battered shed. Sure enough, there was another gathering of vacant villagers, too many to count. They wandered in circles around a makeshift symbol of Nos, with broken planks of wood roped together in an x-shape. As he studied them, he saw one of the villagers pull a rotted book from a pile of debris, which was tossed from the cliffside as if in offering.

There were far too many to fight, and no way to sneak around them. The man pondered this dilemma for a moment, until he came up with a solution that was just simple enough to work. He pulled the fur hood far over his face, concealing the shimmering seal etched onto his forehead, then cast an Aural Decoy at a building opposite him. The odd croaking noise drew most of the peasants'' attention, and he took the opportunity to shamble into their midst.

He was astonished to find that his plan worked. The vacants ignored him entirely, assuming he was one of their own. He slipped through their numbers, moving dangerously close, but passed by untouched.

He had nearly reached the other side when a villager suddenly stumbled out of a hut directly in front of him. The man froze in alarm, and for a moment, their eyes met. To his horror, the villager raised his hatchet with a wail, alerting the rest of his brethren, and the spell was broken.

He did not bother to look back. With a snap of his cane, the Lucid One lashed out and struck the vacant in the knee, dropping him to the ground. He vaulted over the fallen peasant and ran as the cries behind him drew closer.

He sprinted full-speed around the next corner, then skidded to an abrupt halt. Before him was an even larger gathering of villagers, and this time, they spotted him immediately. He stared aghast as they charged towards him, while those behind drew closer. He was trapped.

Just before the crazed mob reached him, a massive golden shape dropped from above, landing directly in their midst. The Lucid One stared slack-jawed at a towering headless knight, its translucent wings fading from view as it stood upright. Its gilded armor gleamed brightly, and glittering mist drifted from its hollow neck.

As the man marveled at the glorious angel, the villagers' cries turned to ones of elation, and they rushed towards the golden giant in a wild frenzy. Their crude tools clambered to the ground as they pawed harmlessly at the polished metal. The knight leaned over with a groan and lifted one of the villagers bodily, holding him up as if appraising a treasure, then gently squeezed. There was a faint crack, barely audible above the din, and the angel flung the peasant over the cliffside into the roiling tempest below.

A second tremor struck behind him, and the man turned to find another radiant knight. This one gripped a gold staff in its gauntlets, tipped with the cross-shaped saltire of Nos, which it thrust into the sky. There was a brilliant flash as lightning struck the pole and spread outwards like a shockwave through the crowd. The closest villagers fell into smoldering heaps, but were quickly replaced as more rushed willingly to their certain doom.

The Lucid One glanced around frantically, desperate to escape this insanity. The mob forced him dangerously close to the cliff's edge, nearly knocking him over, and he struggled to keep his footing. Then, he noticed a small ledge jutting from the mountainside below, barely large enough to hold a person, and began clawing his way towards it.

As he drew closer, the angel ahead raised its open palms to either side and began to levitate. Its ephemeral wings bloomed into existence, showering the swarming vacants in gold sparks, and without warning, pillars of white light rained from the heavens. The brilliant beams seared through pockets of the crowd, disintegrating the hapless peasants, and the man abandoned all caution. He dove blindly as a pillar struck the ground where he had been standing, and tumbled over the cliff.

Time crawled to a halt as he hung in midair. For a brief moment, he imagined himself falling forever into infinity, then his back struck solid stone. His eyes flew open, half shocked, half relieved, and saw that he was lying at the very lip of the rocky shelf, his legs dangling over the roiling clouds. He quickly scampered against the wall for safety, while more villagers fell limply from the chaos above.

As he took shelter, he discovered a narrow crack in the cliff's face, just wide enough for him to squeeze through. The man wasted no time before he wedged himself into the opening. Wherever the tunnel might lead, it could not be worse than where he had been.

.

* * *

.

The jagged walls tore at his clothes as he wormed through the constricting passage. It seemed to shrink with every inch, making it difficult to breathe, and he expected to be trapped at any moment. His only solace was the light emanating from his seal, which illuminated the crevice and urged him on. At this point, he could not turn back even if he wanted to.

After what felt like ages, the Lucid One spotted an opening. He ignored the rocks scraping at his body and crawled anxiously towards the exit, craving the chance to draw air again. At last, he pushed himself through the hole and collapsed onto a rickety chair, which snapped to pieces beneath him.

Although he was able to stretch his weary body, he was not yet out of the tunnels. The man found himself in a makeshift home of sorts, with shoddily made tables and shelves placed at random about the small cavern. Tattered books lay scattered on the floor, and the walls were covered in crude paintings.

The most prominent picture was of the very mountain he climbed, topped by a great fortress — the Basilica of Saint Andros. Below it were ocean waves, and four winged figures floated high above. One wielded a bolt of lightning, another had a hunting bow, the third held a staff topped with a bell, and the last was empty-handed.

Beside it was a depiction of a great battle, with a legion of angels battling what appeared to be a mass of serpents rising from the sea. Another section showed a fleet of ships sailing across the ocean. There were also some odd shapes, wavy lines and spiral designs, as well as the saltire of Nos drawn repeatedly. In the lower corner, a man held his own head in one hand, and a flame in the other.

As he studied the mural, the sound of approaching footsteps alerted him. He raised his cane defensively as a single villager shambled into the room. The cadaverous creature froze when it saw him, and for a moment, neither one made a move. Then, it moaned in fright and promptly fled.

The Lucid One stared after it, perplexed, then followed. He weaved through the maze of tunnels, chasing the echoing groans, until he spotted the vacant cowering in an alcove. He frowned, wondering why this individual was not hostile like the others, and carefully approached. As he drew closer, the thing glanced at him with bulging, milky eyes, and hastily flung something further into the cave. The man remained motionless, expecting it to strike, but it merely continued to huddle.

Once he was certain the villager meant no harm, he strode past it and inspected the object it threw. It was a human skull, but its orifices were coated in crystals. He picked it up curiously, wondering what purpose it could possibly serve, then returned to the peasant trembling in the dark. He tried to offer its treasure back, but the pathetic creature refused to even look at him.

After a while, he accepted that there was nothing he could do for the poor soul, so he tucked the skull under his robes for safekeeping and continued through the caverns.

.

* * *

.

At last, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and a chill breeze brushed past his face once again. It carried with it the sounds of battle, as well. The man readied his silver staff as he approached the opening, prepared for another fight, and gazed down from the precipice.

Below was a single warrior facing off against a group of vacants, who rushed at him with abandon. The fighter swung a massive copper-plated wheel against the horde, wielding its enormous bulk as if it weighed nothing. The Lucid One dropped from the ledge onto a crumbling roof, prepared to join the fray, though he soon realized the warrior did not need his help in the slightest.

A single blow sent three villagers sprawling. A fourth charged with hammer flailing, but the fighter blocked with his wheel before bull-rushing the vacant to the ground. He sidestepped as a sickle whisked past his bronze helm, then there was a crackle of electricity as sparks flew from the spokes. The wheel spun madly as he thrust it into the villager, who flew back with a sizzling pop, its skin charred black.

Another rushed in with a pitchfork, and the warrior dove to avoid the strike. He came up swinging, catching the vacant against the kneecaps, which audibly shattered as they folded backwards. The creature collapsed in a heap, then the wheel slammed onto its upper back, crushing it beneath its weight.

The remaining trio attacked in unison, but could not land a single hit against their nimble foe. The Lucid One noticed that despite the man's merciless assault, he never struck hard enough to draw blood. He blocked another swing from an axe, then shoved the vacant right off the cliff's edge. One of the villagers tried to catch him with his back turned, but he ducked beneath its knife and bludgeoned it across the head, causing its neck to bend at an unnatural angle.

The final vacant cried out as it slashed wildly at the warrior, who backpedaled from the crazed fiend with ease. He blocked an overhead strike, causing its elbow to snap, then caught its jaw with an upward swing. The peasant toppled over in a daze, and before it could recover, the wheel came down hard on its midsection, nearly touching the ground with the force of its blow.

With the battle concluded, the man carefully laid his wheel aside and dragged his final victim towards a nearby shack, where he propped the body upright. The Lucid One quietly descended from the rooftop, unsure if he wanted to draw the warrior's attention after such a brutal display, and watched cautiously as the gray-robed figure tended to the corpse. He realized with alarm that the stranger was talking to it.

"...were doing so well, friend! Don't spoil it over a weak stomach!" As he came closer, he saw that the man was tearing strips of cloth from the dead vacant and stuffing them into its mouth, preventing blood from spilling out. The Lucid One slowly backed away, trying to go unnoticed, but a loose stone caused the warrior to turn in surprise. His face was entirely concealed behind a conical bronze helm, save for his icy blue eyes. Despite their cold demeanor, however, he called out in a jovial tone.

"Oh, hello there, good sir! Apologies for the mess. I thought to share tales of the saints with these poor souls, but they weren't much for listening I'm afraid."

The Lucid One stood frozen, baffled as to how he should respond. Slowly, the warrior rose and approached him, eyes squinted in unnerving scrutiny. Then, without warning, the man flipped open his visor to reveal a beaming smile spread across a surprisingly youthful face.

"Ah, you are one of the chosen!" he exclaimed zealously. "Oh, how I've dreamed of this day! It's wonderful to finally meet you, friend! I am Brother Edson, Sentinel and disciple of Cardinal Richter. It is my solemn duty to guide awakened such as yourself on their pilgrimage. Tell me, do you know of the path of saints?"

The Lucid One nodded hesitantly. "I would hope so, for you walk it as we speak! It is the greatest blessing one could hope for, to be granted an audience with their holiness, the Cardinals. To become a divine... Few are given such a golden opportunity. I must admit I am envious of your fortune, brother. I have long prayed for such a chance... It is not wrong to desire such a thing, is it? Not if one's intentions are pure..."

The Sentinel trailed off, his bright eyes glazing over, and the man waited uncomfortably. Suddenly, the warrior returned to the present with a jolt. "Oh, pardon me. I must have lost my focus. I am Brother Edson, Sentinel and disciple of... Oh, bother! I said that already, didn't I? Bah! What I meant to say is that it is my solemn duty to guide awakened such as yourself on their pilgrimage. To this end, I would present to you our sacred seal."

With that, the warrior procured a cerulean ring and handed it over. Within its insignia were sapphire gemstones, cut into the shape of a crescent with three lines intersecting it. "This is the seal of our covenant," Edson explained, "the ever-watchful Sentinels of Cardinal Richter. Put it on, please! Whenever malicious spirits mean you harm, it will summon one of our numbers to fight by your side."

The Lucid One obliged him and slid the ring onto his index finger, which Edson nodded at approvingly. "Now you will never be alone in battle, my friend." The man could only smile weakly at his overt enthusiasm.

"Well," the Sentinel sighed, "I suppose I should finish up here and give these chaps a proper sky burial. I do hope our paths cross again, Chosen One! May Nos guide your way!"

As he returned to fussing over the deceased villagers, the Lucid One departed with haste. Though the warrior seemed friendly enough, his genial nature contrasted bizarrely with the mangled bodies around them. He was starting to wonder if the entire world had been cursed by madness.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Breaking Wheel** — A large copper wheel carried by Sentinels. When activated, electricity courses through the metal plating, complementing its brute force with lightning damage. These wheels are often used in rites of sky burial, but can also serve as a bludgeoning tool if necessary.

 **Divine Pillars** — A miracle of the Radiant Legion. Summons pillars of light that fall from the heavens. As lightning embodies the wrath of Heliphon, this pure light is said to represent his mercy.

 **Lightning Coil** — A miracle of the Radiant Legion. Calls a bolt of lightning from the sky, which spreads outward from its striking point. While the weakest of lightning spells, it is nevertheless helpful when facing endless hordes of sinners.

 **Radiant Pole** — A polearm that depicts the symbol of Nos. Can be used as a weapon, or to channel miracles. The Radiant Legion served on the front lines against the demons, which fell numerously to their incandescent might.

 **Sentinel's Seal** — A ring worn by adherents of the Sentinels. May summon a blue phantom when invaded by dark spirits. The Sentinels of Cardinal Richter are stalwart defenders of the weak, and uncompromising punishers of the guilty.

* * *

 **Brother Edson:** deviantart (dankbouls87/art/Brother-Edson-776445789)


	6. Path of Saints

**6\. Path of Saints**

.

The winding walkway seemed to go on forever. The road had narrowed dangerously, but at least there were no more villagers or angels to threaten him. The Lucid One stepped cautiously, keeping his eyes ahead instead of peering over the edge to the roiling tempests below. Even the sea had become hidden beneath the clouds, yet still the path climbed higher into the heavens.

After what felt like eternity, he reached the end. To his puzzlement and confusion, the path ended at a flat brick wall, with no gateway or even window of any kind. The man frowned, wondering if he had missed another secret tunnel along the way. He could not reconcile his arduous climb with this apparent dead end.

While studying the architecture, he noticed the bricks were contained in a towering archway of stone. Gradually, he realized what had happened — someone had barricaded this portcullis and blocked the path. Someone was trying to prevent the awakened from reaching their goal. With his confidence fading, he desperately searched the wall for a way through.

As he approached, a familiar golden shape plummeted to the earth beside him. The man nearly fell over as the ground quaked, and he stared in terror at the angelic knight. It turned towards him, auric mist rising from its headless neck, and raised a saltire-tipped staff with a hollow roar.

The man rolled desperately as a streak of lightning struck the staff, then rippled outward from the knight's greaves. It scorched the stone road and nearly shocked the Lucid One, yet did not harm the angel. As the electricity faded, it gripped the staff in its massive gauntlets and pursued its prey.

Before he could stand, a second knight fell from above, its ephemeral wings fading as it landed with a crash. This one wielded an iron chain, which twirled in its grasp as it too gave chase. The man stared hopelessly at the gilded giants, and raised his silver cane in a feeble defense.

The chain was a blur. He felt its heavy links collide with his chest, and suddenly, his feet were no longer on solid ground. He soared back, tumbling through the air, then skidded across the stones in a limp pile. His body went numb while his thoughts continued to reel.

A massive gauntlet encircled him. He was lifted into the air as the angel began to squeeze, eliciting a sharp crack from his ribs and spine. The air rushed from his lungs at once, his eyes nearly popped from his skull, then he was airborne again. He landed in a lifeless heap, dangerously close to the cliff's ledge, feeling as if he were already dead.

As the angels closed in, something shifted inside his cloak and fell out. He watched the object bounce down the pathway, vaguely realizing it was the crystallized skull from earlier. He felt nothing at its loss. The treasure mattered little as he prepared for his certain end.

Thunderous footsteps approached, then suddenly, they were past him. To his surprise, the angels ignored him and chased after the bouncing skull instead. He watched, puzzled, as the nearest golden knight lunged forward, catching the treasure a moment before it tumbled off the edge. It lifted the glistening skull between its fingers as if appraising its find.

Something in the man's mind screamed to take advantage of his good fortune. His body was broken, but one arm still responded. He desperately dug through his belongings, searching for the emerald flask, as Volk's words came to mind. _"It help you. Make strong."_ He prayed the titan smith had spoken true. He tore the stopper free with his teeth, then chugged.

As the Estus spilled down his throat, the Lucid One's eyes shot open. At first, it felt like he had swallowed liquid fire, but the sensation gradually subsided as his senses flared back to life. Even though his bones were shattered, stabbing him with each gulp, he ignored the pain and continued to drink. The fiery essence flooded his soul, igniting within him the urge to live, to fight.

He sprung to his feet, replacing the stopper and shoving the half-empty flask back into his pockets. Despite his burning confidence, the man knew that fighting would be folly. His only option was to flee.

He turned to the angels, still preoccupied by the skull. The one holding it brought his fingers together, crushing the bone and releasing a fine powder from within. The sparkling dust drifted down into its neck-hole, as if it too were drinking for nourishment, but the Lucid One ignored this curiosity and sought an escape.

The brick barricade stood tauntingly, every seam packed tight with mortar. However, he caught sight of a trail to his left, a narrow ledge that snaked along the soaring portcullis. Without hesitation, he rushed to the sloped path and slid beside the wall.

Another echoing roar almost made him fall as the angels resumed their pursuit. The man clung precariously as he shuffled faster, loosening stones that somersaulted into the infinite space below. The path was too thin for the knights to follow, but the one with the saltire-staff raised it high and summoned another flash of lightning. With a thrust, it released an electric bolt that streaked towards the trapped figure.

In a surge of sudden bravery, the man turned his back to the bolt and let himself fall. As his feet slipped into open air, he desperately clawed at the path, barely catching himself. He dangled off the ledge as lightning scorched the stones above. His broken ribs felt like a thousand daggers as he struggled to climb back up, and the air crackled as another bolt prepared to strike. He had just dragged himself onto the path when the electricity burst below him, causing the hairs on his legs to rise.

He was finally concealed from the angels' sight as he rounded the wall. He slid with his back to it, but the path grew impossibly small. He soon had nowhere to go, and looked around helplessly to escape his predicament.

A few yards back, the Lucid One spotted an opening. There was a round hole carved in the stone from which dirtied water poured, but it was far above his head. He stared in longing at the tantalizing escape, wondering how he could possibly reach it. As he pondered, he felt one of the stones jutting into his back, and spun in inspiration.

Despite its solid architecture, the wall was not entirely seamless. Some of the stone blocks stuck out oddly, time and erosion wearing away the expert masonry. Tentatively, the man gripped one of the exposed corners and pulled himself up, just barely able to reach the next. He rested one foot on the previous stone as he tried to locate another. He did not have to remind himself that a single mistake would lead to an endless tumble, and his certain doom. No amount of magical elixirs would heal his body from such a fall.

He spotted another stone within reach. He shifted sideways to grasp it, but his footing was lost, and the man held on for dear life as his legs flailed against the wall. His toes found the tiniest indent, just enough to give him a boost, then he reached desperately for the next exposed corner.

After a few more precarious struggles, he was nearly level with the sewer hole, except it was almost six feet to his right. He searched around, but there were no more niches to grab onto, and the drain protruded nearly a foot from the wall, even further than he was. There was no other choice.

With a suicidal leap, the Lucid One flung himself towards the opening, hands outstretched. Both touched the lip of the drain, but only his right held fast. He clung by three fingers, feeling himself slipping, and quickly brought his free hand up. The disgusting water trickled down his chest and splashed into his mouth, making him balk at its horrid taste. As his arms weakened, he grit his teeth and lifted his full weight with only his fingertips. If he could have screamed, he would have.

Thankfully, there were bent metal bars just within the drain. The man wrapped an arm around one for support, allowing him to finally catch his breath. With a few more heaves, he sat within the circular hole, ignoring the waste that soaked into his clothes.

Something about the sewer water unnerved him, though. Besides its putrid stench, he could feel it seeping through his clothes, and it burned as it reached his skin. Unable to rest for even a moment, the Lucid One dragged himself from the darkened waste, realizing it was poisonous, then carefully slid between the twisted bars and into the sewer. Poison or not, it was still better than what lay behind him.

.

* * *

.

The tunnel continued straight for some time, but the water grew no less deadly. He edged along the wall, the soles of his feet occasionally slipping into the grime. The poison had soaked through his skin and was coursing through his veins, eating away at his fortitude, turning time against him.

The man reached into his pouches once again to produce the sapphire flask, filled with the pure waters of the well from his dreams. He drank greedily, but despite its healing properties, the draught merely postponed the poisonous effect.

As he placed the flask beside its emerald counterpart, he finally reached the end of the tunnel. He stared awestruck at the expansive channel he found himself in, its ceiling practically shadowed from view. Looming slabs of stained metal rested at either end, with chains running along their tops to intricate gears above. He assumed these contraptions had not been used in ages, and for a moment, believed he was trapped.

Then, he spotted a rusty ladder beside the ancient gateways, which led to a high platform. Despite its flimsy appearance, there was no alternative. He wished he could afford another swig of the golden courage called Estus, but instead, he gathered his resolve and began the dizzying climb.

Fortunately the ladder only looked unstable. He paused halfway to drink from the sapphire flask again, his health drained to dangerous levels. When he finally reached the top, he realized with dismay that the crystal liquid was nearly empty. Worse, there was a single door locked from the other side, its solid metal unyielding. He peered over the opposite end of the platform and found another ladder that had rusted away, crumbled to pieces among the sludge below.

As the poison burned at his insides, he desperately sought a solution. His eyes fell upon a lever attached to the great chain, blending into the tarnished metal, and he eagerly tugged at it. To his relief, the lever gave way, and the chain began to slide with a resounding groan.

The enormous gate opened, allowing a rush of sewer water to flood the area below. His hopes sank as it rose steadily, realizing he would have to wade through the muck to move forward. Then, something across the tunnel caught his eye.

He peered across the rising floodgate and saw two hooded figures. They appeared human, but their faces were concealed behind porcelain masks, elongated into drooping bills like a bird's. They carried lanterns in one hand, and a dark walking cane in the other. Both stood motionless, unreadable, staring back from behind glass goggles. Suddenly, they turned to the door behind them and vanished.

A wave of anxiety struck the Lucid Ond, as he suspected they had gone for reinforcements. He hastily returned to the ladder and descended its exorbitant length, landing with a plunk in the thick waters below. He waded ahead as the poison stung his body, his eyes fixed upon the next lowered gate, and the intact ladder by its side.

He eagerly climbed the rungs. By the time he reached the upper platform, he felt violently ill. There was another door, locked yet again, and the lever here was jammed. It took all his strength to force it over, but at last, the next sluice grated opened. By the time he climbed back down, the man could barely see. He hastily produced his flask and sipped the last of the well water, barely enough to keep him going. He pressed forward, refusing to admit the hopelessness of his situation.

It was just past the next gate that he noticed the pile of bodies. A ferry had been crushed against the wall, and more of the bird-masked men lay strewn about, some floating in the muck and others pinned by their splintered boat. One lay bent backwards over the bow, his spine snapped and a broken oar through his body. All around them were wooden barrels, each one marked with the telling symbol of a skull and crossbones.

The Lucid One knew he should press on, but a flash of color caught his eye. The bill of a corpse's mask was cracked, revealing soft purple underneath, and he instinctively went to investigate. To his surprise, the bill was packed full of violet flowers, their aroma cutting through the awful stench of the sewer, and he immediately recalled their purpose.

The man quickly snapped the bill, pulled out a handful of mossflower, then began chewing them. The purple petals released a pungently bitter juice, but already he could feel it purge his insides of toxins. A wave of relief washed over him as he hoisted himself onto the broken boat, a temporary relieve from the poisoned waters. He still felt weak, but at least he was freed from a slow death.

Using the other end of the broken oar, he dragged the floating bodies closer to inspect their masks. Each one was packed full with the purple moss, which he eagerly looted. He only paused a moment when he saw one of the corpse's faces, its pale skin and blackened tongue speaking to its cause of death. The herbs could only do so much against the deadly water, apparently.

While filling his pockets with purple mossflower, another object caught his eye. He slid the body closer and snatched a slimy key-ring from its belt. Despite his fatigue, his spirit soared. He prayed to Nos that one of these keys unlocked the metal doors far above.

As he prepared to drop back into the waters, pockets full of petals, he realized there was a small side passage with more corpses. With his new immunity to the poison, he dared to take a glance down the tunnel in case any more treasures lay within.

Instead of treasure, he beheld an abomination.

The tunnel ended promptly in a grated drain, and pressed against it was a massive squid-like creature, its tentacles wound through the iron bars. Its skin was gray and rugged, like stone, and it lay perfectly immobile among the bloated bodies of the bird-men. The Lucid One was torn between inspecting this monstrosity or fleeing, and finally decided to take one of the corpse's lanterns and throw it.

The glass shattered against the rocky creature, and still it moved not an inch. The man frowned, certain that it was dead, but unsure why it seemed so statuesque. Regardless, the stinging sludge urged him on, so he pushed the mystery from his mind and returned to the rusted ladder.

Once he was back on the platform, he began testing the door with the slime-coated keys. On his seventh try, he heard a click, and the door swung wide open. He breathed a sigh of relief, his breath scented by the mouthful of flowers, and entered into a soaring stairwell. Glowing lanterns emitted a pale light, using crystals instead of candles for illumination, casting deep shadows against the stone.

The Lucid One kept a cautious ear out for any of the living beaked men, then quietly ascended the stairs, amazed that his feet had not fallen off from all the climbing.

.

* * *

.

At long last, he saw light at the top of the stairwell. He urged his weary legs onward, his breath rattling in his throat, and finally emerged from the dark tunnels. He was blinded momentarily as his eyes adjusted, but when they did, his enthusiasm quickly evaporated.

He stood atop an expansive rampart, stretching as far as the eye could see. It encircled a majestic cathedral, which he could only assume to be the Basilica of Saint Andros, a masterpiece of architecture. Dozens of spiraling pinnacles thrust high into the clear blue sky and pierced through the billowing white clouds. Strangely, there was no sun in sight, yet rays of light fell all across the cathedral regardless.

The view was breathtaking, but this was not what drew the man's attention. Placed all along the ramparts were long poles with wheels attached to the ends. Atop these wheels were human bodies, tied down by chains in a spread-eagle pose, their withered arms and legs wound through the spokes at impossible angles. As he stared at the ghastly sight, he recalled what Sentinel Edson had said.

 _"A proper sky burial."_

An involuntary shiver ran down his spine, and he forced his eyes away from the atrocities. He had no doubt those men were once sinners, deserved of their fate, but he still felt a sting of empathy for them.

As his gaze drifted back to the Basilica, he spotted a wide walkway leading to the front gates. However, thick glaciers coated the walls and froze the golden doors shut. The man searched around in confusion, then spotted two smaller walkways leading away from a decorative kiosk, which was positioned halfway to the main entrance. As his eyes traced these walkways, he beheld the belltowers at either end. In a rush, the Well Maiden's words returned to him.

 _"The path is guarded by divine protection, which can only be broken by ringing the Bells of Clarity in unison."_

He had no doubt that these were the bells she spoke of, but immediately, a new dilemma arose. How was he to ring them together if they sat so far apart?

His pondering was interrupted as movement caught his eye. He ducked behind the parapets in sudden alarm as a trio of angels marched towards him. They patrolled all along the ramparts in groups, the familiar golden knights flanked by a pair of hovering archers. They were far off, but the Lucid One could make out their conical helmets, silver bows, and elegant wings. They appeared to have no legs beneath their chain-link skirts, which billowed from gilded breastplates.

Before he could devise a plan, a deafening roar exploded overhead. The man cowered as a gale rushed by, and a great shadow washed over the ramparts. With a final beat of its spiny wings, the scaled drake landed atop the kiosk, which seemed ready to break beneath its enormous bulk.

As one, the angels rushed the cerulean beast to defend their Basilica. The dragon shrieked again, electricity leaping from its fangs, and the Lucid One covered his ears as the din of battle erupted all around him.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Dreamer's Skull** — A crystallized skull belonging to one whose dreams were pure. Use to distract certain enemies. The dreams of humanity are a priceless treasure, and there are those who yearn to claim them as their own.

 **Lightning Spear** — A miracle of the Radiant Legion. Hurls a bolt of lighting at the enemy. Heliphon was the inheritor of lightning, which he passed on to his angelic warriors.

 **Purple** **Blossom** — A flower used to counteract the effects of poisons and toxins. It is a common practice of Inquisitors to stuff their billed masks with these petals, to avoid contracting illness.

 **Slime-Coated Keyring** — A keyring found within the poisoned waterways of the Basilica. Its numerous keys can open many doors. Only the Inquisitors are allowed access to these depths, as their clandestine activities are shrouded in secrecy.


	7. Great Wall of St Richter

**7\. Great Wall of St. Richter**

.

Even the sturdy stone ramparts shuddered as the drake began its assault. Arcs of bright-blue lightning tore through the ranks of angels, who writhed as they combusted. The Lucid One dared to peek from cover, just in time to see the massive creature heave into the air with a mighty beat of its fin-like wings. It circled high above as the angelic archers released volleys of silver arrows to little effect.

The drake swooped across the cloudy sky, coming parallel to the outer wall where the man lay hidden. He gaped as the monster roared with electric fury and quickly dove into the adjacent corner, barely avoiding its scorching breath. A headless knight collapsed beside him, its shining armor charred, and the golden mist dissipated from its neck into colorless ash. The man frantically looked around for an escape, but the expansive walkways offered no cover. He was ready to run back down the stairwell into the floodgates below, but just then, something caught his eye.

One of the gilded knights was operating a massive ballista, elegantly molded from silver and gold. Three barbed spears, each thicker than a tree trunk, were loaded into its rectangular shaft, and with a tug of the firing crank, they launched towards the airborne beast. Two of the arrows missed as the monster rolled over, but the third penetrated its muscular thigh. A horrible screech split the air as silver blood rained across the ramparts.

The injury only infuriated the drake further. It serpentined straight into the clouds, then dropped with a crash onto the ballista, crumpling the mechanism like foil beneath its wicked talons. Its fanged maw clamped over the helpless knight, and it viciously whipped the angel back and forth before flinging it bodily from the wall.

The creature took to the skies again, leaving the Lucid One in awe of its might. Though the ballista was wrecked, many more lined the parapets with no one to operate them. A lone knight lumbered towards one of the oversized crossbows, but a lethal jolt of lightning incinerated the angel before it could reach it. The drake twirled in the air, then crashed onto the kiosk once more, unleashing a victorious cry.

The remaining archers pelted the beast with endless slivers of light, but they barely penetrated its azure scales. As lightning ripped through their numbers, the man finally dared to rush towards the ballista. He reached it unseen by angels or dragon, and with great strain, managed to tilt the machine in the drake's direction. The abomination spread its spiny wings and roared again, frills quivering with intensity, and the Lucid One saw his chance.

With both hands gripping the lever, he fired. There was a thunderous crack as the triple spears raced through the air, but at the last second, they dipped low and collided with the kiosk instead. The marble pillars cracked and crumbled, and the drake whipped its head in his direction with a roar. His heart plummeted as the electric energy exploded towards him.

He dove away from the ballista, and luckily, the metal contraption attracted the entirety of the blast, its exquisite design melting in the intense heat. He kept hidden behind the wall, expecting another attack, but only a roar followed in its wake. The beast was preoccupied by the angels, neither of which had noticed the dwarfed mortal. He quickly located another ballista loaded with missiles, gathered his resolve, and dashed madly towards it.

His teeth ground together as he pivoted the device, and this time, he aimed higher than his intended target. The dragon remained perched atop the small building as if claiming its territory, wings spread wide to challenge contesters. As the light refracted through its translucent membrane, the man saw his mark.

The three arrows launched from the ballista, and this time, his aim was true. One missile tore right through the wing, while the others embedded into its shoulder and torso. The drake's roar changed to a cry of pain, then it toppled from the tower and crashed onto the walkway. It thrashed about as it charged madly, running straight for the man. He ducked in terror behind the ballista, expecting to be trampled, but the creature barreled right over him and toppled off the wall.

The enraged monstrosity beat its useless wings as it fell from the ramparts, its cries echoing into the tempest below. Flashes of sapphire light faded from view, and soon, all traces of the fiend had vanished. The Lucid One struggled to catch his breath, expecting the drake to return at any moment, but the skies were calm once more.

He peered towards the broken building, finding scores of blackened angels littering the walkway. Those that had survived were far away, leaving the path ahead clear. The man could not believe his fortune as he dashed for the shelter of the kiosk, certain that Nos himself must have guided his shot.

.

* * *

.

Despite the damage it suffered, the small structure stood fast. Its gold-domed roof had caved beneath the drake's talons, and the x-shaped saltire at its peak was bent at a crooked angle. However, the four marble pillars that supported it were cracked but whole. As he drew near, a familiar hum reached his ears, and he was greeted by a welcomed sight.

In the center of the crumbling tower stood a lone lantern, shimmering with surreal light, its silver bell chiming softly amidst the destruction. The man sighed in relief at its presence, praying that the dream would take him back into its sanctuary. As he approached, however, a gasp caught in his throat as he beheld a familiar tricornered hat.

Morrow glanced up from the floor, both hands clutching his charred ribs. The leather coat had been burned away, revealing blackened, bubbling skin beneath. Despite his horrible state, the wounded man shook with an ironic chuckle.

"Well," he rasped, "Never expected to... see you here..." Each word fought to escape his lips, which were flaked with dry blood. "You even... took down that accursed drake... Bravo, my friend..."

The Lucid One stared aghast at his condition, then immediately knelt beside him. He retrieved the emerald flask from his coat and extended it in offering, but Morrow only gazed at the light-filled bottle with a strange expression.

"Estus?" he asked, a mix of emotions flooding his voice. "But... You? How did you... Ugh, no matter. I'm in no position to question..." At last, he reached out a gloved hand and accepted the elixir, then drank greedily from its contents. After a moment, he wiped his mouth clean and handed it back.

"Thank you, friend," he spoke gratefully, sitting straighter even as his wounds persisted. "That should give me the strength to see this through. I am ashamed to admit I used up all my rations." To his surprise, Morrow produced an identical emerald flask, its emptiness reflecting in the lamplight. "You understand my confusion now? I thought I was alone, but it would seem our paths cross in more ways than one."

Morrow sighed and poked at his exposed ribcage, which no longer seemed to bother him. "I don't suppose you have any water on you? From... you know, the dream?" The Lucid One shook his head regretfully. "Ah well, no matter. The agony chased away any chance of rest, but it pains me much less now. Hopefully sleep will take me back, soon..."

The Lucid One sat silent, letting Morrow recuperate, but the talkative fellow was not yet finished. "Listen, friend. I believe fate has brought us together. For you to appear now, in my time of need, can be nothing short of destiny. Do you know of the bells? The ones that will open the path ahead?"

At this, he perked up and nodded eagerly. "Very good," Morrow continued. "Legend says that both must be rung in harmony, but it's impossible for one man to accomplish alone. Therefore, I propose an alliance. If you take the path to the left, I will take the right. Whoever reaches their bell first will ring it to signal the other, and with luck, we may yet complete our task."

The Lucid One gave him a smile of agreement, feeling blessed that he was not alone. He wished there was some way to show his thanks, the he remembered the gift Morrow had left him at the last lantern. It seemed only fitting that he should return it now, a token of his friendship.

When he produced the small white crystal, however, Morrow waved a hand. "No, Nameless One, that is yours to keep. It should prove useful on the road ahead. Do you not know what it is?" The Lucid One shook his head. "That is a soapstone shard, a relic of old. In times of need, it can resonate with another, and summon an ally to your side. A precious thing indeed, though it must be destroyed for it to work. The unfortunate price of companionship. I've no doubt that you'll find use for it."

The Lucid One nodded gravely and pocketed the priceless artifact. Then, he took a seat opposite Morrow and gazed deep into the flameless lantern. The other man fell silent, and together, they slipped away into the dream, beckoned by the softly shimmering chime.

.

* * *

.

His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. Gradually, recollection returned, and the Lucid One sat up in surprise. Morrow was already gone, leaving no trace of his passing save for a faint stain of black blood. As the man stood, he felt as if his pockets had grown heavier, and reached inside his shirt to investigate.

To his surprise, he found the twin flasks refilled, both of well water and Estus. He stared in confusion at their miraculous return, but try as he might, he could not remember visiting the mysterious dreamworld. However, he was not about to question his blessings, and returned the items to his coat feeling refreshed. He hoped that Morrow had also recovered from his grievous injuries, and was already off to complete his part of the bargain.

The Lucid One gathered his cane from the tiled floor, then looked ahead to the belltower in the distance. It was a straight path to his goal, but he got the feeling it would not be a welcoming one. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled up his fur-lined hood and continued on his quest.

.

* * *

.

Halfway to the tower, he encountered another patrol of angels. A pair of hovering archers flanked a headless knight, who gripped a bronze hammer in one hand and an iron chain in the other. He tensed, realizing there was nowhere to seek cover along the open wall. A fight was inevitable.

He tried to form his strategy as they neared, but there was little he could do against the imposing constructs. There were no ballistae nearby to aid him. He considered dashing through, but knew it would be futile. Then, the angels spotted him, and the knight began to charge. The man gripped his silver staff with white knuckles; it suddenly felt like a twig in his hands.

The bronze hammer rose high, and he rolled forward as it crashed down, demolishing the stone floor. He had barely stood when the archers plucked their silver bowstrings, which sang in harmony as they conjured volleys of arrows. He tried to dodge, but his left arm and leg were pincushioned by the shimmering needles. He collapsed against the wall as the arrows evaporated, leaving no wounds, but his limbs had gone numb.

The chain immediately struck his back and sent him sprawling, knocking the wind out of him. He heard the bows sing again, and instinctively rolled on his side as the arrows rained down. He passed right beneath the hovering angels, their bow-tips staking into the ground, barely missing him. As he tried to stand, one archer floated back to gain distance, while the other prepared to fire once more.

He was done trying to dodge. With a twist of the pommel, his staff separated into a whip and lashed out, wrapping around the intricate bow. Another twist and it tightened automatically, snapping the bowstring and tearing the weapon from the angel's grasp, sending it careening from the wall. As the other fired, he ran in front of the nearest archer, using its body to shield himself. He thrust forward and caught the angel beneath its breastplate, staggering it.

The knight was upon him again. It leapt between the archers and swung wildly with its hammer, barely missing the man's head as he ducked. He stabbed the golden warrior in the side, but his cane bounced harmlessly off its thick armor. Then the chain swiped down, forcing him to roll, and he found himself surrounded on all sides. The bow sang, the chain struck, and the man was flattened against the wall with a chest full of arrows.

His entire body was numb from the crippling attacks, leaving him oddly at peace as the angels closed in. He didn't have time to use his potions or defend himself, and his years of magical study were useless against these foes. He blinked back the tears that had begun to swell, and looked to the sky in hopelessness, begging the benevolent Nos for guidance.

Then, his eyes refocused, and inspiration struck. Despite his paralyzed body, his right arm still responded, and he touched the silver catalyst to his forehead. He recited the spell silently in his mind, feeling the crystal pommel resonate with his thoughts. His magic was useless against the angels, but they were no longer his intended target.

The hammer swung high, the bowstring drew back, and the man fired a single white streak into the numerous wooden poles around them. The spell splintered through the shaft, causing the corpse-laden wheel above to crash down onto the archer's shoulder. Its arrows shot wide as it was pinned beneath the heavy copper wheel, and the man threw himself aside before the hammer came down, barely avoiding its pulverizing blow.

Before the fallen archer could recover, the Lucid One dropped his cane and stole its heavy bow. He barely had the strength to lift it, but as his fingers touched the silver string, he immediately understood its nature. The weapon required a certain combination of faith and knowledge to wield, and those aspects he had plenty of. As the knight lumbered towards him, the bow sang, and the shimmering needles pierced its armor as if it were paper.

With the angel's charge halted, the man quickly produced his sapphire flask and gulped down its blessed water. The archer grabbed his arm, trying to interrupt him, but he immediately retrieved his cane and stabbed down on its elbow, breaking its grip. He rushed forward as he pocketed the flask, his body cleansed of all pain and numbness, and resumed his assault with renewed vigor.

Expectedly, the hammer swung down, and he dove straight between the knight's legs. He grasped the staff with both hands and jabbed backwards, catching the angel behind the knee, and found a gap in the plated greaves. The golden goliath collapsed with a groan, holding both hands forward to support itself.

Before he could take advantage, he noticed the disarmed archer had its hands and wings spread. He instantly remembered this stance, and his blood went cold as pillars of light showered the ramparts, covering its breadth with divine magic. He crawled back as one seared between his legs, and scrambled beneath the kneeling knight for cover.

The man suddenly found himself face to face with the headless giant, whose glimmering mist seemed to be staring directly at him. Reacting on instinct, he thrust his staff straight into the open neckhole, impaling the golden fog within. The angel shuddered as it released a deafening bellow, expelling the mist from its armor as vapor, and the Lucid One rolled aside as the knight collapsed to the ground, its light extinguished.

The archer finished its casting, but before the man could attack, a sound from behind drew his attention. He spun, expecting the other archer to have freed itself, but what he saw made him freeze. He was only partly right.

As the archer rose, so too did the corpse bound to the copper wheel, a piece of the splintered pole still jutting out one side. The emaciated body struggled to balance, its legs bent around the spokes at impossible angles. It stared at the man with a vacant gaze, then sprung with surprising agility and cartwheeled towards him.

He threw himself aside as the corpse-wheel raced past, and the splintered shaft whistled just above his head. The archer flew high to avoid the charging wheel, then dove at the man with arms outstretched. He lashed once with his cane, cracking it across its conical helmet, and ducked low to avoid its embrace. At the same time, he hoisted the heavy chain from the ground and heaved with all his feeble might, looping it around the archer's shoulder-pads. He held fast as it struggled to free itself, nearly lifting him off the ground. Then, he heard the wheel grinding towards him again.

Panicking, he flung himself aside along with the chain, and its links caught in the spinning spokes. This time, though, the wooden pole struck him square in the chest and threw him back. He skidded across the walkway, vision spinning, and he barely noticed the corpse wobbling over him. It was equally disoriented, but the Lucid One recovered first. With a heaving kick, he toppled it over the short wall, and the bound body tumbled head over heels into the clouds. The chain tightened around the archer's neck, and its weight dragged the hapless angel along with it.

There was only one more. No sooner had the thought entered his mind than the bowstring sang, and a volley of arrows pierced his torso. Everything below his shoulders went numb as he collapsed in a heap. He heard the feathery wings approaching, and struggled to pull the Estus from his thick robes. A shadow fell over him as he chewed the stopper free and struggled to lift it to his lips.

The bowstring pulled taut, sounding as if it were inhaling. A second before it fired, the cane whipped around and knocked it aside. The silver needles shot in a row beside him, with a couple catching his arm, but he ignored them. Once again, the Estus filled him with a fiery frenzy. It did not heal his body, but his body didn't matter, only his fighting spirit fueled by the desire to win. To kill.

The Lucid One leapt to his feet as he lashed again, striking the angel across the face. It quickly recovered and closed the distance, using its bow as a staff, but the cane snapped together to block it in time. He held on with both hands, straining against the construct's inhuman strength, and finally managed to shove it back. The bow swung again in an instant, but the staff came apart as its wielder rolled aside, twirling it over his head to whip at its wings. Sparkling feathers billowed about, and the angel gave a shrill, unsettling scream.

Without wasting a moment, the man struck again, and the floating archer collapsed to the ground. He struck again, and again, releasing a torrent of feathers as the angel shrieked in pain. He lashed repeatedly, his jaw stretched in a silent warcry, showing his adversary no mercy.

It took him a moment to realize the angel had ceased moving. Its armor fell apart at the seams, revealing nothing inside, and its wings were battered to shreds. His rage finally subsided, and he stared in astonishment. He had finally won.

And he was still only halfway to the belltower.

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* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Bronze Hammer** — A large hammer crafted from bronze. It is weaker than steel, making it inferior in combat, and is mainly used as a tool to fasten hapless sinners to their wheels during sky burials.

 **Sentinel Greatbow** — Magical bows wielded by the Sentinel archers. They do not require ammunition, and instead fire arrows of light which draw directly from the soul itself. When plucked, the silver bowstring seems to sing with joyous intent.


	8. Bellkeepers

**8\. Bellkeepers**

.

The belfry soared majestically into the drifting clouds. At its base, a pair of archers floated beside the entrance, with a heavy gate denying passage. There was no avoiding them. The Lucid One hesitantly thumbed the silver ring below his cane's quartz pommel. He had been successful so far, but mainly due to luck, and that was sure to run out. He had to have faith in his mission, and in Nos. That was the only way to defeat these derelict angels.

The notion still weighed heavily on his conscience. He had no idea why he was battling the divine constructs, but it was not his place to question. Something was terribly wrong, and his quest would surely set things right. The ring clicked into place, and he charged.

As he neared, the archers raised their bows in unison, firing twin volleys of silver nettles. He dove low between them, then immediately backpedaled as their weapons swung like clubs. He refrained from counterattacking, hoping to draw the angels away from the walls, where they would be vulnerable.

Sure enough, they floated forward, raising their bows to stake him with the pointed ends, but they struck only stone. Their strength was formidable, but the man was quicker. He tumbled past, staff separating mid-roll, and lashed the angels twice across their backsides. Feathers fluttered as they cried out, then swung again in a wide arc. He was already dodging, moving far right to place one archer between the other.

His staff snapped together. With one hand on the pommel, the Lucid One jammed its tip into the base of the angel's wing, eliciting a horrendous shriek from the creature. His cane sunk into its joint, but its partner was already upon him. He placed a foot on the gilded armor to pull himself free, and fell back as the bow whistled overhead. He rose to his feet, whipping the archer's conical helmet. The attacks barely fazed it. With a powerful flap it rushed forward, bow extended, and toppled the man to the ground.

He quickly recovered as it flew overhead. As he struck the wings repeatedly, the angel cried out and spun towards him. The cane locked together, then separated in a straight thrust. It caught the angel below the breastplate, enough to finally stagger it. As it drifted to the ground, his cane solidified and stabbed upward beneath its helm.

There was a rush of golden smoke as its inner glow extinguished, and the armor fell to pieces around him. He had no time to celebrate, for a sharp note signaled the other's bow. Without looking, he threw himself aside, and arrows scattered past. Before he could stand, the bow sang again, and he rolled alongside the wall. The silver needles shot through the stone without resistance. He charged the lone angel, denying it the advantage of ranged combat. With the cane barred before him, the bow swung, and their weapons collided.

The force of the blow nearly sent him sprawling. His arms flung wide as his guard was broken, and he stumbled to stay upright. A flash of metal made him drop to the ground, barely avoiding the next strike, then his cane whipped upward into the construct's chin, causing its helmet to snap back. A second lash caught its arm, delaying its next attack long enough for him to dive under it. He came up behind and stabbed deep into its wing.

The angel wailed as the man forced it down, face-first against the stone. He pushed with all his might and felt the staff go straight through, until it jarred against the inside of its breastplate. The archer raised a gauntlet as its light faded, then the arm collapsed and broke apart.

With a firm tug, the Lucid One retrieved his cane, then surveyed the vacant shells. He was amazed he had won with only some bruised ribs, hardly worth the blessed draughts he carried. He had one swig of each flask remaining, and did not want to squander them.

Instead, he moved to the lever tucked beside the gateway and activated it. The dark-iron portcullis shuddered as it rose, as if it had stood unused for ages. Just inside its archway was a spiral staircase, and with a steadying breath, the man started his ascent.

.

* * *

.

When he reached the top of the tower, he gaped in awe at the enormous ebony bell hanging from the rafters. The polished marble floor reflected its magnificence, as well as the angelic statues that rested against each of the four pillars. Their carved bodies were overtly muscular, detailed right down to their bulging veins, but their faces were oddly infantile in contrast, with rounded cheeks and short curly hair. Countless fractures marred their smooth surface. Each statue held a spherical mallet before them, their silver-and-gold heads larger than the man's own skull.

His attention, however, was drawn entirely to the bell above. Its obsidian surface featured an ornate embossing of a hooded angel, her face veiled, with six moulting wings and four arms spread wide. The upper pair pinched chains connected to curved platters, like a scale, while her lower left cradled a thick tome. In her lower right hand, she gripped a wavy kris dagger with a curved hilt.

When he finally tore his eyes from the ominous figure, he noticed a plaque at his feet, engraved with a glowing epitaph. It read—

 _The Bell of Dusk_

 _Commissioned by Saint Richter, Cardinal of the South_

 _In honour of our Fair Lady, Ebraxes_

At once, he understood. This was a depiction of the Cessator, the angelic Watcher of True Death, judge of sinner and savior alike. He suddenly felt insignificant in her holy presence, even if it was only a carving.

Just then, a bell rang clear in the distance. Far away, in the opposite tower, a golden bell glistened as it rocked to and fro in the rays of light. Morrow had reached his goal. The Lucid One hurriedly searched for a means of ringing his in reply, then spotted the familiar lever against a pillar.

As soon as his hands touched the device, the ringing stopped. Fear and concern flooded his mind as he peered at the silent belltower, wondering what had halted it. He had no time to question, and pulled the switch. Chains creaked, the rafters moaned, and the ebony bell swung with a resounding toll.

He kept his ears honed for the other's response, but none came. He began to fear the worst when a sudden crack snapped his attention. He turned as one of the statues lurched to life. The web of fractures that lined its muscular body shimmered with azure light, and its eyes shone white. The cracks running down its cheeks sparkled blue as well, as if it were crying. The statue stepped unsteadily from its dais, then hefted its enormous mallet in both fists.

Its faintly carved smile fell upon the man, and he shrank insignificantly under the shadow of its stone wings. Then, without warning, it charged.

.

* * *

.

The golden club obliterated the marble tiles as he leapt aside. The statue was slow and lethargic, but the weight of its weapon alone could crush him. As the infantile face creaked in his direction, he scrambled to his feet, trying to shake off the fear. He had beaten angels before, rose above overwhelming odds. The man tried to garner his confidence, but the statue's genial expression sent a chill through his soul.

The bellkeeper charged again, each footfall cracking the floor beneath its bulk. It swung wide, forcing him to dive, and the cane whipped uselessly against its rocky skin. The mallet fell like a boulder, almost pinning his cloak as he rolled away, and again the whip lashed out to little effect. His silver staff could barely scrape its fractured form, drawing little more than flakes of stone. As the statue lumbered towards him, he tried casting his magic arrow; as expected, it broke harmlessly over its broad chest.

Before the golem could reach him, there was a crack from behind. The man tumbled reflexively as another mallet crashed down. He stared in disbelief as a second statue joined the fray. Both constructs ran awkwardly at the trespasser, so he dove beneath the ebony bell, placing its mass between him and his pursuers.

The angels were slow to react. They swung with abandon into the bell, which echoed against their blows. The statues seemed to reel in pain from the sound, while the cracks in their skin spread further. Instantly, a plan formed in the Lucid One's head. While the bellkeepers were distracted, he rushed to the lever again.

Then, his heart stopped. That impenetrable mist had returned, coating the mechanism and rendering it useless. A glance revealed that it also covered the stairwell, blocking any chance of escape. His hopes evaporated as the angels recovered, charging with twin hammers raised high.

He dodged the first strike, but the second crashed onto his leg, shattering the shinbone. Pain seared through his limb as he dragged himself away, but the keepers showed no mercy. Their weapons fell again, and he rolled on his side below the safety of the bell. A mallet collided as he was still underneath, and the reverberation split his skull. Again, the statues paused in agony, their skin cracking even more.

When his ears stopped ringing, the Lucid One suddenly noticed something tickling through his robes. He thought it was his imagination, but with the angels distracted, he risked retrieving the mystery item.

In his palm was the white soapstone shard. It was quivering.

Morrow's advice sprang to mind, and he knew what he must do. He hurled the crystal to the floor, shattering it to pieces and releasing a fine mist. Divine runes alighted the marble tiles where it fell. As the bellkeepers regained their focus, a figure emerged from the haze.

He was shocked to see the pale phantom of Lady Serise standing over him, with her unmistakeable steepled hat and split-tailed coat. She turned briefly, giving him a sight nod, then slid her black-bladed greatsword from its sheath. With spiked shield raised, she charged bravely to meet the angels.

Serise slid to her knees beneath the first swing, dealing a glancing blow against the bellkeeper's thigh. As the construct turned, she thrust at its side, wedging the sword-tip deep into its cracked skin. The statue stumbled as the other rushed forward, its mallet colliding with her shield.

A revelation struck the Lucid One, and he cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. Slashing was useless, but piercing attacks were apparently effective. He hastily removed the sapphire flask to drink the last of the blessed water, and his shin snapped painfully back into place. Soon, that pain was gone as well, and he stood refreshed to rejoin the battle.

Both bellkeepers were focused on the knightess, allowing him to get close. With both hands, he jabbed his cane into a statue's thigh, and it stumbled forward with a groan. Serise ducked beneath the other's mallet, then stabbed her blade into the opposite side of the leg. There was a splitting crack as the limb crumbled to pieces, and the bellkeeper toppled to the floor, unable to stand.

Another blow knocked Serise's shield aside, and she barely avoided the following strike. The Lucid One was about to aid her when a rumble caused him to dodge instinctively. A mallet crashed through the floor as a third statue shambled from its platform.

Keeping his distance, the man deftly sidestepped the falling hammer and jabbed with his cane. A stone wing swept in to deflect the blow, then it flung wide, knocking him clear off his feet. His fingernails scraped marble as he nearly slid off the tower, and halted with his upper torso hanging in mid-air.

He clambered to his feet in time to see the fourth and final statue glow a sparkling blue. They were now outnumbered two-to-one. Serise noticed this as well, and backed away as two keepers rushed her. Both mallets came crashing down, but she dove between them, coming to her feet before the crippled statue. It raised its hammer in one hand, and Serise's shield shot up instantly.

The mallet had no time to connect. One of the shield's spikes launched forward, embedding in the angel's face and marring its gentle smile. The bellkeeper dropped its arm in surprise, leaving it wide open. Thinking fast, the Lucid One rolled beneath a swinging hammer as his staff separated, and he lashed at the barbed bolt, knocking it free. It shattered the stone visage, exposing a glowing mass of blue crystals that pulsated with divine energy.

Before he could act, a pair of keepers charged in. The man was forced back, rolling beneath the bell, and the golden spheres knelled against its ebony surface. The three statues wavered, disoriented, and Serise took advantage of the opening.

As the fallen statue swung blindly, the black greatsword ran through its neck. A rush of cerulean mist burst from its head as it bellowed deep. Strangely, the sound was doubled by a high-pitched whine, like a child crying for its mother. At once, the shimmering cracks went dark, and the stone keeper collapsed into rubble.

The others recovered quickly. They released a simultaneous warcry, enraged by their fallen comrade, then charged with renewed vigor. Vapor steamed from their fractured skin as they swung wildly, forcing the mortals back, giving them no time to retaliate. One of the mallets crashed into a pillar and nearly collapsed the column. The entire belfry shivered with the animosity of their attacks.

The Lucid One had two statues chasing after him. He thrust his staff as it snapped apart, catching a bellkeeper in the chest. The brute continued its stampede and nearly trampled the man, who tumbled away as the other's mallet swung just above his hair. He tried to stab with his cane, but the wing shielded the statue once again. He leapt back as its stone feathers whisked past his face. The golden maul followed shortly, mere inches from knocking his head clean off.

Serise was faring better than he, and focused on downing her single target. She danced around the behemoth, keeping to its sides, thrusting only when the opportunity presented itself. As its stony skin chiseled apart, she noticed the Lucid One overwhelmed by the twin statues. Without hesitating, she tumbled towards him in time to block a deadly blow.

Before he knew what was happening, Serise tossed her shield at him. He barely caught the spiked frame, then secured it to his left arm. As he hoisted the heavy steel ward, Serise produced a folded parchment and slid it along her sword in one deft motion. With a roar, flames leapt from its blackened blade, and the pair resumed their battle.

The knightess avoided another swing, coming up behind the construct. She took her fiery greatsword in both hands and lunged into the statue's backside, dropping it to its knees. At the same time, the Lucid One jabbed the cane into its throat, while Serise spun her weapon upside-down and slammed it between the angel's wings. It gave a pained groan, echoed by a shrill whimper, as smoke billowed from the gaping wounds.

The other bellkeepers leapt to defend their kin. Stone wings lifted them high, then the golden mallets crashed down like twin meteors, sending slabs of marble through the air. The man tumbled back, coming to his knees as he fired a barbed bolt. It lanced a statue through the eye, but it seemed not to notice. Serise continued to assault the wounded angel, and with a mighty swing, took its battered head clean off. Still the construct continued its onslaught, sweeping its hammer wide and catching the knightess with the lengthy handle. The blow sent her reeling against a pillar, where she slumped to the floor.

Without thinking, the Lucid One leapt onto the angel's back in a frenzy. He lodged the shield between its wings for support as he drove his staff into its exposed neck. He stabbed over and over, feeling the crystals breaking with each strike. Finally, a fountain of mist erupted from its body, and the statue toppled to its knees.

As the others closed on the knightess, she struggled to retrieve something from her pouches. Producing a fistful of green grass, she hastily stuffed it into her mouth, and was suddenly on her feet before the heavy mallets could find her. With one hand against her ribs, she thrust upward into an unprotected armpit, and heard a resounding crack. The angel's limb separated at the shoulder, nearly dragging its weapon down with it.

The Lucid One rolled off the statue's back, then fired a final bolt into the broken neck. The projectile disappeared into its body and burst out its spine, releasing a fatal jet of vapor. A pained wail echoed as the great golem fell apart, defeated.

Serise rushed to his side and retrieved her shield. Together, they stood against the last two bellkeepers. Instead of attacking, though, the enemy did something bizarre. The lumbering angels straightened, unusually reserved, weapons poised before them. Then, they promptly smashed the golden hammers into their own faces and demolished them.

The mortals stared in alarm at the cavernous skulls glistening with crystal. A piercing pitch filled the air, and they both leapt aside as twin rays of light exploded from the shattered stone heads. The searing beams raced across the tiles, causing crystals to erupt from where they struck.

As Serise reloaded her shield, the Lucid One tried to distract the enemies. He ran forward as the lasers shot again, and leapt over them as they crossed paths. However, the spiking shards hit him from behind, slicing through his back and numbing his nerves. He remained on his knees as his blood went cold.

The knightess charged now, bringing her greatsword down on the one-armed angel, but the flaming blade rebounded off its stone flesh. She fell back as the hammer flailed at her, then the other fired a single beam. She had no time to avoid it, and the laser collided with her shield, knocking her flat on her back. Then, the crystals burst beneath her, impaling the woman.

While the angels were distracted, the Lucid One drew the last of his Estus with a shaking hand. He struggled to raise it to his lips, then felt the invigorating warmth flare through his veins. The numbness vanished, and he leapt into action. The statues were approaching the fallen knightess when his staff dug into one of their kneecaps with a snap. A stone wing whipped around and sent him sprawling, but he was back on his feet in an instant, the pain only fueling his rage.

The air began to hum, and he dove to the side as the pair of lasers raced by. His cane separated straight into a statue's broken head, stunning it briefly. Suddenly, the blackened greatsword burst through the back of its skull, and a hiss of vapors escaped its wound. Serise was still in the fight, unheeding her grievous injuries.

The golden mallet arced around in response, but she ducked beneath its mass. Leaping away, she fired once, twice, three times into its concave face, and the head exploded in a shower of stone. The second statue began to radiate white light as a shrieking note split the air.

Before it could unleash its attack, the Lucid One did something desperate. He hoisted one of the fallen mallets overhead, and though he did not possess the strength to wield it, he had just enough to send it crashing into the ebony bell. The deep intonation interrupted the angel's spell, and Serise charged the headless construct. She sliced at its injured kneecap, severing the leg, and the statue pitched forward. With a mighty thrust, she plunged her blade into its neck, right down to the hilt.

The angel crumbled, leaving only its one-armed companion standing. As it was still recovering from the bell's resonance, the mortals pressed their assault. They circled the ungainly giant, sword and staff striking from either side, while it swung its mace blindly with one hand, never connecting with the nimble warriors. Serise impaled its shoulder from behind, cleaving off the other arm, and the Lucid One drove his staff through its midsection.

With a great heave of its wings, the statue soared high. The duo dove aside as its feet slammed to the floor, causing the entire tower to quake. It charged the man headfirst, but he managed to extend his cane into its skull before tumbling aside. Serise tossed her shield onto her back, then gripped her sword in both hands. She threw all her weight at the angel's stunted shoulder and stabbed deep into its chest cavity. At the same time, the Lucid One struck from the other side, leaning into his staff until he heard crystal crack.

Bright blue steam billowed from the statue's fractured skin, and with a mewling cry, it perished into ruin.

.

* * *

.

The Lucid One nearly collapsed from exhaustion, and hunched over his cane to keep upright. Despite the pain that wracked his body, he managed to give his ally a faint smile and nod, grateful for her assistance. Lady Serise placed a hand over her heart, replying with an elegant half-bow, half-curtsy, then gradually faded into thin air. The man blinked in surprise, having forgotten she was merely a phantom, and wondered where the real Serise could be. He prayed for her safety, though it was apparent she could fend for herself.

Once his heart stopped pounding, he returned to the lever, now freed from the binding fog, and the ebony bell tolled loudly once more. The man gazed to its twin tower in the distance, ears straining for any hint of a response.

Suddenly, the golden bell pealed crisply through the air, and the Lucid One wanted to shout in joy. Morrow had succeeded. They had both succeeded.

The ringing bells were promptly answered by a deafening crash. The glaciers that surrounded the inner walls were crumbling. Hailstones the size of boulders avalanched into the canals below, and gradually, the ornate golden doors were exposed. The entrance to the Basilica was laid bare.

His celebration was cut short as another noise reached him. It was an unsettling sound, a keening wail that slowly rose above the clanging bells. The man peered across the great wall, trying to spot the source of the awful cacophony.

When he finally saw it, an involuntary shiver ran through his spine. All along the ramparts, the corpses atop the wheels were crying out in chorus.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Angel's Breath** — A divine sorcery of the angels. Fires a focused beam of crystallized souls. The breath of angels is said to be the very essence of life, yet proves incomprehensible to mortal minds.

 **Bellkeeper's Mallet** — A ceremonial mace forged of silver and gold, wielded by the Bellkeepers of the Basilica. The twin bells of Dusk and Dawn were gifted to the Four Cardinals in recognition of their divinity. For this reason, only the purest of souls were anointed to watch over them.

 **Blackiron Greatsword** — An heirloom inherited by Lady Serise, knight of Carthania. Its iron blade has been blackened by the consistent use of charcoal resin. The mercenaries of Carthania were infamous for their fighting spirit, yet they were powerless against the floods.

 **Charcoal Resin** — A parchment of charcoal resin that applies fire to a weapon. The use of flame was forbidden to mortals by Nos Himself, and brandishing this resin is considered an affront.

 **Crossbow Shield** — A unique shield invented by the blacksmiths of Carthania. It is loaded with barbed spikes, which can be shot like crossbow bolts. Carthania was once an advanced society, but they are remembered only as warmongering savages.

 **Green Blossom** — A flower commonly used to cure fatigue and hasten recovery. Despite its bitter taste, this plant gained infamy among warriors for its revitalizing attributes, and was harvested to near extinction. Fresh morsels are now considered a commodity.


	9. Basilica of St Andros

**9\. Basilica of St. Andros**

.

Every muscle ached after the excruciating battle. Thankfully, there were no more angels as he approached the rotunda, seeking the safety of the lantern. The man dragged his feet wearily, struggling to keep his heavy eyelids open, until he was greeted by the gentle phosphorescence of the lamplight. With a silent sigh, he collapsed inside the structure and allowed his eyes to close at last.

.

* * *

.

The Well Maiden stood before him, her diamond tiara sparkling amidst the luminous white tree. "Welcome home, Lucid One," she spoke. "Thou hath journeyed far, and attained great wisdom. Kneel before me, and claim thy legacy."

The man knelt compliantly, eyes wide with reverence. The Maiden reached out with shriveled fingertips and gently pressed them to his forehead.

At once, the world exploded with light. His mind reeled, temporarily blinded by the brilliance, as a surge of emotions swelled within his breast. His blood flowed like a torrent, every fibre tingling with eclectic energy, until the light slowly faded. The Maiden withdrew her touch and gazed down at him compassionately.

He felt entirely like a new man. As he stood, he stared down at his body in wonder, half-expecting it to be someone else's. Though it appeared the same, some fundamental part of him had been altered, of that much he was certain.

"Thou hath claimed the echoes of the vanquished," the Well Maiden answered his unspoken questions. "Take comfort in their affinity, for they shall serve thy will implicitly."

The Lucid One nodded in silent promise. He stared around at the mystical dreamworld, marveling at how real it all felt. Curiously, one of the shattered archstones was starting to reform, with its cryptic runes standing out more boldly. He looked back to the great barren tree in the center, and was suddenly reminded of a promise that had been made to him.

He had an appointment with the serpent.

.

* * *

.

It was easier to spot this time, now that he knew where to look. Ryn the snake flicked its purple tongue as he approached, unblinking eyes never straying. Tensen's journal still lay before it, tucked into the leafless branches just where he had left it.

"Ah, greetings, manling. How fares your grand journey?" The Lucid One offered a nod. "Ah, of course. I forgot you are the silent one. Well, you've come at the right time. I've unraveled these pages' mysteries, and would gladly share them with you. Take a seat, and listen to the teachings of the divine."

The man sat crosslegged in anticipation, and the snake began. "One of the key lessons is understanding the nature of the soul. I take it you are somewhat versed in the soul arts? Very good. Then you already know that souls are transient, fleeting, but also malleable. A soul can be broken, or it can be concentrated. The soul is not a constant, no matter how sorely mortals may wish it to be. Once you accept this truth, then you may begin to understand how to use it to your advantage..."

.

* * *

.

The Lucid One made his way back to the well with a few more spells added to his repertoire, along with a sense of enlightenment. He understood the divine magic of the angels, if only a little, but it was enough for now. Besides, he could feel this mystical realm slipping from consciousness. He was waking up.

As he approached the Well Maiden, she turned to face him, her blue-tinged lips tight in concern. "Lucid One, thou must now enter the Basilica. Thy courage is commendable, yet the greatest challenge still awaiteth thee. The four Cardinals sit sequestered in the old cathedral, heedless of the suffering of humanity. Approach them, beseech them. Remind them of what they once were, then reclaim the remnants of the Lordbrandt which they shelter so reverently.

"The harmony doth fade, and our time grow'th short. Farewell, Lucid One. Mayst thou discover thy peace of mind."

.

* * *

.

The dream faded, and the world was restored to sight. Though his rest had been fleeting, the man felt invigorated. His twin flasks weighed heavily in his pockets, their contents miraculously replenished with water and Estus. As he rose to his feet, he spotted a familiar figure resting within the kiosk, though it was not Morrow as he expected. He did not recognize the youthful face, only the conical bronze helm tucked beneath an arm, and those piercing blue eyes.

Brother Edson gave him a hearty smile. "Ah, awake at last! You were slumbering like a little babe. Pleasant dreams, I assume?"

The Lucid One nodded hesitantly. "Very good," the Sentinel continued, leaning against his large copper wheel. "Dreams are a gift, you know. A blessing from the angels to those whose intentions are pure. And for those that aren't... Well, I'm sure you needn't worry about that. Nos has chosen you, after all, and He never makes mistakes. See? You've unsealed the gates of the Basilica! Quite the feat, indeed!"

His icy gaze drifted to the towering doors in the distance. "I can't even recall the last time the gates lay bare. It must have been ages ago. Oh! That reminds me. You may have rung the bells, but you shan't be allow entry without this." He procured a thin golden rod, from which a tattered banner hung. "The standard of poor Saint Janith, the proscribed herald. The Cardinals have denounced her faith, but there are those who still believe in her piety. Present this to the gatekeepers, and they will surely open the way for you."

The Lucid One took the frail standard with care. A simple emblem was woven into its fraying cloth, portraying twin serpents biting each others' tails to form a loop. One was sewn in white, the other black; both colors had faded from the passage of time.

"Take care now," Edson bade him, "And do keep an eye out for Inquisitors. Nasty fellows, to be sure. They suspect everybody of being a sinner, even those who bear the mark such as yourself. Oh, and give my regards to Cardinal Richter!"

.

* * *

.

Despite the Sentinel's cordial tone, the Lucid One approached the gilded gates with a sense of foreboding. It was not improved by the broken skeletons scattered about the walkway, as if they still begged for entry. He peered up at the colossal wall, but could see nothing beyond its lofty crown. Gathering his resolve, he squared his shoulders, lifted the banner high, and waited.

At first, nothing happened. Then, a pair of enormous beings rose into view on the upper wall. The man was surprised to see that they resembled the titan, Volk, with ironclad heads and stony skin. However, their bodies were cold and grey, unlike the blacksmith's molten flesh. They gazed down at him from behind their metal masks, then bent down and began pushing against hidden contraptions.

Slowly, the golden slabs opened outward, grating heavily against rock and bone. Soon there was enough space for him to pass through. He set the standard down among the unfortunate skeletons and entered the Basilica.

The Lucid One found himself within a spacious courtyard. Directly ahead was a great marble sculpture of four men, the infamous Cardinals. The central statue was presumably Saint Andros, a beautifully chiseled figure in billowing robes, and a tall pointed mitre atop his head. A saltire-tipped staff was raised in one hand, with the other spread charitably before him.

To his right was a heavily armored knight wearing a full-faced crowned helmet. He held a sturdy scepter encasing a bell — Saint Richter. The identity of the last two men were a mystery. To the left of Andros was a lithe figure in a peculiar mask, shaped like a horse's head. Two curved blades were crossed over his chest, and a lengthy bow rested on his backside. The final statue was less distinguished, clothed only in a simple garb, but unlike the others it had been defiled. The head was missing, leaving only a jagged stump.

The sculpture was silhouetted by a magnificent chapel behind them, with dozens of spires corkscrewing into the cloudy sky. Plumes of white smoke sifted from their steepled pinnacles, blending together with the cotton haze. Sunless rays of light reflected off the diagonal gold crosses that rested at the apex of every roof. In all, it was a glorious sight to behold, and the Lucid One stood transfixed by the inner beauty of the Basilica.

Suddenly, movement caught his eye, and he crouched low against a wall. A headless golden knight strode into view, holding a saltire-staff high. He was followed by a hideous procession of people chained to copper wheels, struggling to uphold their burdens on decrepit legs. A second knight brought up the rear, a mess of iron chains dragging from its gauntlets. The man remained still as they marched across the courtyard, passing through a line of burnt wooden stakes before disappearing up a wide staircase.

When he was sure the coast was clear, he dashed to the statues and crouched again. The courtyard was deceptively empty, making him even more cautious. Even the stakes were devoid of corpses, with only piles of ash to prove that some poor souls had once been burned there. He briefly noted how each wooden pole was capped with a copper sphere, but paid them little mind.

Despite his vigilance, another small detail drew his curiosity. Though there were no corpses tied to the stakes, there was one shriveled body lying against a base, its outstretched hand clutching something strange. After a moment he realized it was a tuft of black hair, tied off at one end with a cord. It was a talisman, the sort outlawed by the church and used only by heretics. Though he sorely needed a catalyst for miracles, he refrained from taking it, as it was undoubtedly cursed. At this point, he needed all the luck he could get.

Directly ahead was the arched entry of the cathedral, his goal. He drew a deep breath and hastily approached.

The archway contained two doors, which were oddly mismatched. The right was adorned with gold engravings, while the left was a dark iron cast. A keyhole rested in either side, and as expected, the doors would not yield to his desperate heaving. He silently cursed his luck, having come so far only to be stopped by yet another obstruction.

Just then, twin tremors shook the earth. He spun to face a pair of headless knights that had dropped from above, each wielding a long staff. They immediately charged, giving him little time to react. He leapt aside, but too early; the cross-headed polearm struck him in the side, flinging him bodily against the cathedral walls. The second one thrust forward, and he ducked away before it could crush his skull.

The man scrambled back to the statue as lightning streaked from above, barely avoiding the electric wave that spread across the ground. As he ran, a third knight appeared from an archway, leading another parade of wheel-bound vacants. He froze in his tracks, surrounded. The golden angel thrust its staff forward with an echoing roar, and the corpse-wheels somersaulted towards him, kicking up dirt as they spun ferociously. He dove from the first, but the next rolled over his legs, nearly snapping them in half. Grimacing through the pain, he threw himself behind the marble statues as more raced by. The wheels halted, their bearers struggling to find their balance, and he took the opportunity to strike back.

He raised his silver cane, releasing a large sphere of soul energy into the sky. When it reached a moderate height, it burst into smaller projectiles and showered down at the corpse-wheels. Many of them were struck by the missiles, but none were felled. The wheels were spinning again in an instant, and he jumped away as they crashed into the sturdy base of the statue.

Still on his knees, the Lucid One fired a soul arrow at the closest vacant, and the creature collapsed, slain for a second time. The man tried to reach for his flask, but a crackling lightning bolt forced him to evade instead. One of the headless knights charged in, jabbing with its lengthy weapon, and knocked him flat on his back. He had barely stood when yet another knight thrashed him with a handful of iron chains. His body burned in agony, but still he fought on.

The wheels were spinning again, and he dodged desperately between their flailing limbs. He cursed his luck; if only he had a chime, he could use his new spell to slow their movements. However, his cane was incapable of casting such magic. Instead, he fired another soul arrow that found its mark, and downed a second vacant. There were still plenty left, including four golden knights that closed in from all sides.

His cane separated and whistled through the air, twirling around him like a cyclone. He struggled to keep the enemies at bay, but one of the knights shrugged off a direct hit as it returned the blow with its chains. They struck the man over the head, sending his vision reeling. He stumbled, the cane lost its momentum, then another strike from a staff laid him out.

Before he could even stand, one of the copper wheels ran across his stomach. He gasped in silent agony as his insides ruptured. Floundering to his feet, he searched for a target, refusing to surrender, but the world was spinning about him like a top. Then, a deafening peal split the air, and a searing lightning bolt struck him square in the back.

Once more, the Lucid One collapsed. His nerves were on fire, his limbs laying unresponsive. Each breath came ragged as darkness crept around the edges of his sight, slowly overtaking him. He had no more strength left, not even enough to draw one of the flasks. He was dying.

He stared vacantly at the drifting clouds, an oddly peaceful view to complement the intense pain flooding his body. The last sensation he felt was of something binding his broken legs, then he was dragged unceremoniously across the rocky terrain. At last, the shadows fully eclipsed his vision, and the pain was no more.

With a final exhale, he surrendered to the endless dark.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Black-Hair Talisman** — A talisman woven from raven-black hair, often used by heretics. Resonates strongly with spells that lean towards the dark. It is no doubt the remains of some witch burned at the stake, but oddly, it is not singed in the least.

 **St. Janith's Standard** — A tattered banner bearing the sigil of the divine herald, Saint Janith of Vozgus. It depicts a pair of snakes devouring each others' tails. Long ago, young Janith was granted passage to the Basilica, and venerated as a saint. However, Cardinal Andros promptly declared her a heretic for her blasphemous visions.


	10. Tomb of a Thousand Saints

**10\. Tomb of a Thousand Saints**

.

He awoke with a start, and slammed both palms against the stone surface. He was trapped once again, but this coffin was utterly dark. Lying flat on his back, he pushed with all his might, but the heavy slab would not yield. Still he shoved, his mouth stretching into a silent scream.

The stone budged a hair's width, and the slight progress bolstered his spirit. His bones and muscles ached as he heaved, slowly edging the cover aside, until it collapsed to the floor with an echoing thud. The man sat up cautiously, taking in his surroundings. He felt a wave of relief to find his belongings had been entombed with him, and gratefully retrieved his silver cane and flasks, still full of their contents. After making sure no enemies lay nearby, he pulled himself out of the sarcophagus.

He was in a labyrinthine catacomb. Countless stone coffins lay in rows around him, covered in carved effigies depicting the deceased. Glowing citrine was inlaid in the arched pillars, faintly illuminating the rustic brown bricks. At the base of each coffin were offerings to the dead, including flowers, gemstones, scrolls, vases, bundles of bloodstained cloth, and even paintings. They assembled around plaques engraved with the name of each body buried within.

The Lucid One turned to his own sarcophagus, finding its plaque eroded from time. All he could read was _Saint Cal—_ and felt an odd sense of relief. That was not his name, and the cracked effigy of the bold priest did not resemble him in the slightest. He looked around for a way out, comforted to know that this would not be his resting place like so many others.

To his surprise, there was a staircase nearby, with light shining down into the dark catacombs. He started towards it, praying that it led back to the surface. As he ascended, he came to a grated iron door, through which the courtyard of the Basilica was visible. He smiled in satisfaction, then pushed. The door did not budge.

Something made a ruffling sound outside, and the man tensed. A shadowy figure blocked the grating, then a cheerful voice called through. "Heavens! What in the grace of Nos are you doing down there?"

The Lucid One was relieved to hear Brother Edson. He thudded loudly on the door, begging the Sentinel to let him free.

"I'm afraid you're trapped, friend," Edson informed him. "The door is locked from inside, and I've not the key to open it. Fortunately, I know where you might find it." He leaned close, as if divulging a precious secret. "You must go deep into the Tomb of a Thousand Saints. Seek the resting place of the first Sentinel, Saint Agara. She will certainly hold the key you're looking for. But be mindful not to plunder anything else. These are sacred grounds. You may draw unwanted attention if you give in to greed."

The man nodded in understanding. "Best hurry now," Edson shooed him off. "My fellow Sentinels protect these catacombs, and will not take kindly to your nosing about. They're charged with returning any awakened to rest, including yourself. It's ironic, really... The saints slumber eternal, but I suppose even they are prone to the occasional nightmare. Keep a sharp eye, and take care."

The Lucid One nodded again, then gripped his staff and returned to the cavernous depths of the dead.

.

* * *

.

He studied the names of the many tombs, seemingly endless, but none were the one he sought. He eventually noticed a dim corridor leading away from the vault, and reasoned that the "first Sentinel" must have a more extravagant coffin than those around him. Ignoring the others, he moved deeper into the catacombs.

He was halfway down the hall when something appeared at the other end. He stood perfectly still as an angel drifted by, wearing similar armor as the archers, except its muscled torso lay exposed. It had no wings, only a pair of marble arches curling upward from its shoulder blades. Its neck ended in a slanted white surface, and a metal catchpole was held before it in both hands. The legless construct floated on, unaware of his presence, but he remained motionless until he was sure it had passed.

A quick glance revealed the path was clear. Still, the Lucid One did not take any chances, and cast his Lightfoot spell to move in silence. He took the opposite path, moving swiftly through the earthen tunnel.

He entered another identical vault, and grit his teeth in frustration. The Tomb of a Thousand Saints was certainly living up to its name. He walked among the stone effigies, reading off their names to no success. He felt a suspicion that Agara's resting place lay further still, in the deepest part of the necropolis.

A sound made him halt in his tracks. It was a faint whimper, like a wounded animal. His eyes scanned the sarcophagi once more, trying to locate the source, when he spotted a familiar pointed hat rising over an open coffin.

With his Lightfoot spell still active, he approached the huddled figure. He was astonished to find Lady Serise slumped against a tomb, its cover thrown aside to reveal the cloth-bound figure inside. The knightess twitched as she let out another moan. Hesitantly, the man reached forward and touched her shoulder.

The warrior was on her feet in an instant, sword half-drawn. The Lucid One jumped back, raising his hands imploringly, but Serise did not seem to recognize him. As they faced each other, her sword-arm slowly relaxed, and she gave a faint gasp.

"Oh... it's you. Forgive me, good sir... I was not myself. I must've dozed off for a moment, how foolish of me. I've just been so tired... I searched everywhere, every tomb, certain that I'd find him, but... Oh, this was my last hope. The one place I'd yet to look, and now... now..."

The Lucid One had no idea what she was rambling about, yet felt sympathy for her. He reached out to console the knightess, but she turned away from his touch. "And what brings you to this accursed place?" she practically spat. "Still trying to fulfill your silly pilgrimage?"

He faltered, taken aback by her venomous tone. "What do you hope to achieve? Becoming a divine? Please, don't be naive. The Cardinals would never allow such a thing." This time, he shook his head adamantly, wishing there was a better way to communicate. Then, he got an idea. With the tip of his cane, he made a rough sketch in the dirt of four figures with broken sword hilts. He pointed at the figures, then circled their weapons before pointing to himself. Serise's bleary eyes widened in response.

"You're going to take something from them? You... you're going to steal from the Cardinals. My word, you are either an utter fool or a brave one. Still a fool either way you look at it. They will not let you take what you desire without a fight. You know this, don't you?"

Despite the obvious, the man had never heard it spoken aloud. He hesitated for a moment, then gave a single, stoic nod. The warrior appraised him before returning the gesture. "If your mind is set, then so be it. You have aided me in opening the gates. It's only fair that I return the service." Rising to her feet, Serise produced a clump of green grass and chewed off a mouthful. "Lead the way."

.

* * *

.

The duo journeyed through the crypts, weapons ready. As they entered yet another vault, the Lucid One saw many of the effigy-laden covers had been thrown aside, evidence of Serise's incessant search. The sleeping faithful lay exposed, their shriveled limbs wrapped in wisps of white cloth, with personal effects placed beside them. However, more than a few were unoccupied.

Then, he saw it. Directly ahead was an altar built around a massive sarcophagus. A winged statue loomed above, decidedly female, clothed in the heavy robes of the Sentinels. A pointed hood covered its marble face, with wavy locks of hair cascading down to the ankles. It held a chime with seven bells in its hands, and at its feet, a plethora of offerings lay scattered about, obscuring the plaque. The Lucid One drew closer until he could read its etchings—

 _Saint Agara, the first Sentinel_

 _Patron of the choir_

 _May her prayers ring true even in dreams_

He had finally found it. Not wasting a moment, he searched the items surrounding the base of the tomb. He spotted a dusty book, a small sapphire ring, bouquets of wilted flowers, but no keys. With a rising sense of foreboding, he realized he must risk looking inside the tomb itself. He turned to Serise and gestured to the cover.

"Inside?" she guessed. "We best be quick about it. These catacombs have been too quiet for my tastes." She reluctantly sheathed her blade, and they placed both hands on the side of the coffin. With great effort, they strained against its weight until it grated aside, leaving a thin crack about a foot's width.

As the man peered into the dark cavity, he cringed at its musty odor. Through squinted eyes he beheld the remains of the first Sentinel, her embalmed form bound in white cloth, faded blonde hair still flowing across her body. Clutched between bony hands was a gold key on a chain. He hesitated briefly, then plucked it from her rigid fingers.

Before he could pocket the treasure, Lady Serise drew her blackiron greatsword in a flash. The Lucid One turned in alarm to see a headless tomb warden floating towards them, its sloped neck alight with bright-blue runes. It slammed its catchpole once on the dusty floor, summoning a sphere of lightning between its curved prongs.

"Move!" Serise shouted, and they dodged to either side as the orb streaked towards them. It hovered for a moment before detonating in midair, showering them in sparks. Serise leapt out of cover and fired her crossbow-shield, burying a jagged bolt in the angel's body. It continued forward, ignorant of its injury.

As the man crouched behind a sarcophagus, there was a crackling from behind. He spun to see a second Sentinel thrusting its catchpole at his throat. He fell backwards as it halted inches from his face, coursing with electric energy. Scrambling to his feet, he lashed the angel across its sloped neck with his staff, but merely cracked the marble surface. It immediately responded with a sweeping blow of its polearm, striking him under the ribs and nearly knocking him down.

He dove beneath the second strike and came up behind the warden. He thrust his staff into its side, causing it to lurch unsteadily, then followed with two lashes across its arm. Chips flew from its solid white skin as the Sentinel spun to face him, slamming its catchpole down in an overhead swing. The Lucid One rolled behind a coffin, keeping it between himself and the enemy.

Serise blocked an attack from her opponent, then countered with a straight jab. The greatsword broke through the Sentinel's torso, but the angel pressed its assault despite the gaping fissure. The knightess dodged beneath another strike as she hastily reloaded her shield, but an unexpected swing caught her full-force in the chest. The catchpole clanged off her breastplate as she stumbled backwards, eyes squinting in pain above her bandana.

The Lucid One leapt to her aid. He fired off a soul arrow, striking the angel between its back arches and marring its pristine body. The construct turned to face him, then slammed its catchpole against the ground, launching another lightning orb. He ducked for cover as the projectile exploded against a sarcophagus, throwing jagged shards in every direction.

Serise was back on her feet, greatsword gripped in both hands. With the enemy's back to her, she sliced downward and up repeatedly, gouging the marble flesh with successive strikes. The Sentinel tried to face her, but before it could act, the knightess gave a mighty leap and brought her black blade down on its collar, nearly cleaving its body in half. The angel sunk to the ground, motionless.

As the Lucid One rose from cover, the catchpole suddenly caught him around the neck. He was lifted into the air, kicking uselessly, grasping at the constricting prongs in terror. Then, a thundering peal wracked every nerve. His limbs went numb as he was dropped to the floor, a shrill ring flooding his ears. His vision swam as he struggled to recover from the electric shock.

The Carthanian warrior was a blur as she raced past to fight the Sentinel. The din of battle sounded miles away, steel echoing against steel as if from some deep cavern. The man grasped for his cane, though his fingers barely felt the cold silver, then heaved onto his back. Above, Serise plunged her blade into the angel's chest and drove it to the floor, where it crumbled apart.

Serise knelt beside the Lucid One, mouth moving behind her facemask, but the words were inaudible. He tried to nod in reassurance, but his head rolled uselessly on his shoulders. Then, Serise was looking past him, her body stiff. It took all his effort to turn in the direction of her gaze, where he beheld a new kind of enemy.

Standing among the coffins was a blood-red phantom. He was dressed identical to Brother Edson, but his entire form was bathed with crimson light. His left hand held a bronze shield encompassing four bells in a cross, while the right gripped a long poking iron ending in a circular brand, which glowed orange from intense heat.

The dark spirit stared at the intruders, not moving a muscle, and Serise glared back bravely. Suddenly, the phantom charged, and the knightess rushed to meet him. The man forced himself to stand as they collided, hobbling to join the fray.

The brand struck her shield, bursting with cinders and charring the wooden frame, and the blackiron greatsword crashed against his bronze ward, causing its bells to chime. The Lucid One's staff whipped forward, but the phantom rolled beneath the streaking silver, coming to his feet between the warriors. As they charged from either side, the Sentinel rang his shield and a flash of light erupted from his body, knocking both combatants clear off their feet.

The Lucid One crashed headfirst into a stone coffin, but the dark spirit was already upon him. He dodged sideways as the brand thrust forward, then the chime bashed him square in the chest. He staggered back, the wind knocked out of him, and could not avoid the next strike. The iron circle burned into his ribs, searing right through his clothes, causing him to writhe in silent agony.

The phantom tumbled away as Serise attempted to impale him from behind. She swung wide, trying to catch him mid-roll, but he was too swift. He stabbed his poking iron against her shield, then suddenly kicked it aside with a heavy boot. The iron rammed beneath her unguarded breastplate, and she cried out as the spirit shoved her to the dirt, grinding his searing brand into her broiling flesh.

The red Sentinel turned back to the Lucid One, eyes ablaze beneath his visor. The man stood his ground, cane gripped tightly, when he noticed an odd tingling on his right hand. From the corner of his eye, he realized the blue ring was pulsating with light.

As the enemy rushed in, a second phantom leapt out of nowhere, toppling the dark spirit with a thick copper wheel. The Lucid One stared in shock at the figure standing protectively over him, immediately recognizing the blue Sentinel. Brother Edson had joined the fight.

The red phantom was on his feet in an instant, but so was Lady Serise. As he tried to attack Edson, a barbed bolt launched into his side, then the copper wheel slammed against his torso. The spirit stumbled as the knightess sliced his arm, drawing a gout of blood, then she dodged around his poking iron. As Edson activated his weapon, the enemy raised his shield, and sparks flew as metal shrieked against metal. The phantom jumped away from the grinding wheel, then charged forward and burned the blue spirit on his shoulder.

The Lucid One cast a soul arrow from his staff, striking the phantom in the chest. He hunched over in pain, but recovered in time to avoid Serise's greatsword. He rolled forward, ignoring the knightess, and thrust his shield to launch a bubble of shining force towards the man. He had no time to avoid, and was flung bodily against the tomb of Saint Agara.

As the Lucid One struggled to stand, his eyes fell upon the scattered offerings. The glinting ring caught his eye again, and at once, he became aware of its familiar crest. Within the sapphire seal was a winged figure wrought from gold — an angelcrest ring, worn by scholars of Falmour. His jaw dropped as he realized his fortune, and immediately slid the ring onto his left hand. Pushing aside the pain, the man rose and rejoined the battle.

Serise and Edson pressed their assault, keeping the spirit from countering. Another steel bolt flew past his head, then Edson rang a golden chime, summoning a crackling lightning spear in his left hand. It raced by as the red Sentinel dodged to and fro, weaving between the projectiles untouched. Again, he drew his arms down and exploded with pure light, sending both warriors sprawling. He quickly closed on the fallen knightess, seeking to dispatch at least one opponent.

As he raised his brand to strike, a soul arrow burst across his back, its power bolstered by the angelcrest ring. The phantom lurched forward, then spun towards the Lucid One, phantom form steaming with rage. He rushed the lone sorcerer, but before he could reach him, Edson was on his feet, intercepting the enemy with electric wheel spinning. He tackled the dark spirit with a crackling pop, sending him careening against a coffin, and the Lucid One shot another soul arrow into his side. Brother Edson raised his wheel high and brought it crashing down on the Sentinel's helm, and the enemy crumpled to the floor.

Serise was back on her feet, and as one, all three warriors leapt upon the fallen phantom. The heavy wheel slammed against his midsection, the blackened blade slid into his ribs, and the silver cane staked through his eye socket. The red Sentinel lifted a feeble hand, fingers outstretched as if grasping for mercy, then finally went limp as he faded into smoke.

.

* * *

.

The Lucid One sighed heavily, relief washing over him. The tombs were eerily silent now that the fight was finished. Using his cane to support himself, the man turned to his companions to give them his silent thanks. However, they paid him no attention. His smile slipped away as he sensed the sudden tension between the warriors.

Brother Edson leered at Serise with ice-blue eyes, his back straight as a tentpole. The knightess shrunk away from his presence, but stared back in defiance. They seemed to have entirely forgotten the Lucid One's presence.

At last, the blue Sentinel dissipated into thin air, leaving the two alone in the catacombs. Serise finally released her breath and slumped against a coffin. "Who the devil was that?" she rasped. "Your ally?"

The Lucid One nodded, frowning with concern for her battered state. "You keep some odd company, stranger," she continued, coughing into her bandana. He could see spatters of blood soaking through the cloth. "A word of warning. Stay clear of those Sentinels. They feign piety, and practice only pain. They will greet you as friend just to learn your darkest sins, then mete out punishment with a smile. They are not to be trusted, you hear?"

He bowed his head solemnly, recalling his first encounter with Edson. Serise grunted as she tried to stand, then slid to the floor with a pained moan. The man rushed to her side, but she waved him off with a gloved hand, producing more green blossoms in the other. "I'll be alright, stranger. I am simply exhausted. This journey is taking its toll... Please, do not worry yourself over my well being. We both have our quests, after all. You must hasten to finish yours. Let me rest here, just for a moment... I am so very tired..."

As Serise chewed on the blades of grass, her shadowed eyelids drooped. "Perhaps sleep will visit me at last... and... maybe I can see him, once more... one can hope, after all..."

As her rambling faded into whispers, the Lucid One felt reluctant to leave her side. He did not want to abandon her in these forsaken catacombs, but knew she was right. He could not afford to wait and risk another attack. As a final gesture, he gripped her shoulder tight, though she seemed not to notice, then stood to return to the surface.

Before he left, he suddenly recalled the gold key, still lying on the ground. With a start, he snatched it up, then eyed the tomb of Saint Agara again. Among the offerings, the musty tome drew his attention, and he wondered if its author was also the owner of the ring he now wore. Curiosity got the better of him, and he carefully retrieved the manuscript, dust falling from its binding. He began to browse its contents, and saw a single name inside the cover — _Quintus_. As he turned the brittle pages, he was surprised to see not only spell inscriptions, but also brief musical scores. Despite his interest, he had no time to indulge it, so he slipped the book into the folds of his robe and departed for the exit.

.

* * *

.

Even after the tiresome battle, the Lucid One had enough energy to cast his Lightfoot spell, not wanting to draw further attention. He quickly retraced his steps through the countless coffins, occasionally hiding from the lone tomb wardens making their rounds. As he passed an uncovered tomb, he paused despite his hurry, surprised by the unexpected figure within.

It was the dark phantom he had just fought, only in physical form. The Sentinel's robes were ragged and dirtied, and the bronze helm had long since lost its polished gleam. His weapons had been entombed with him, and though the branding iron was rusted and cold, the bronze shield appeared intact. Hesitantly, the Lucid One reached into the coffer and removed it from the corpse's death grip. He hefted it on his left forearm, finding it lighter than expected, then gave it a shake. To his relief, the four chimes rang clear, and he knew it would still serve its purpose. Now, he could cast the miracles of the angels.

His eyes drifted to the plaque below. Its worn inscription read—

 _Saint Habard, the Sentinel_

 _Patron of medicine and remedies_

 _May he watch over our slumber, and rid our dreams of beastly visions_

As he turned from the sarcophagus, he halted in his tracks. Three tomb wardens were approaching, alerted by his plundering. They stamped their catchpoles in unison, and orbs of lightning raced at him. The man dove behind a pillar as the spheres collided into a dazzling explosion, shaking dust from the ceiling. He dashed from cover and ran straight through the angels, who thrust their weapons in an attempt to catch him. With a nimble dive, he was past them, and saw the staircase illuminated ahead. His legs pumped in desperation as the Sentinels gave chase.

He practically flew up the stairs towards the grated door, fumbling for the gold key in his pockets. The wardens drifted closer as he jammed it into the keyhole and turned, hearing a liberating click in reply. He fell through the gate and slammed it shut behind him, locking his pursuers within the tomb.

Panting, he stared around, taking in the vacant courtyard once more. Brother Edson was nowhere to be seen, but neither were the angels. The Lucid One counted his blessings as he rose to his feet. He looked down at the key in his hand, then back to the cathedral to his left. He suddenly realized the key's engravings matched the gold designs on the church's doorway. He was certain that it would unlock the right half, but the left — the one forged of dark iron — would undoubtedly require a second key. He was so close, but still the obstacles persisted.

He gazed across the vast Basilica, wondering how he could possibly find a lone key among its soaring spires. With a despairing breath, he began his aimless search.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Cleric's Chime** — A golden chime commonly used by devout worshippers of Nos. Ring the bells to cast divine miracles. The faithful often recite revelations of the angels, and hold unwavering belief in their absoluteness.

 **Emit Force** — A miracle of the Sentinels. Knocks down enemies at range without causing bodily harm. The Sentinels are known as protectors, but there are those who would yet flee from them. This spell was devised to hinder their escape.

 **Force** — A miracle of the Sentinels. Knocks down nearby enemies without causing bodily harm. Spilling mortal blood is a sin against Nos, and the Sentinels faithfully adhere to this decree.

 **Gentle Angelcrest Ring** — A ring granted to novice scholars. Slightly boosts sorceries. The scholars of Falmour often undertook journeys to sacred grounds. They believed that ascertaining the secrets of the angels could reveal the path to divinity.

 **Lightning Catchpole** — A weapon imbued with lightning, used by the Tomb Sentinels. It is designed to incapacitate enemies while inflicting minimal harm. The tomb wardens are tasked with protecting the sleeping saints, and occasionally, returning them to rest.

 **Lightning Orb** — A miracle of the Radiant Legion. Fires a hovering sphere of lightning. Heliphon commands all that the light touches, and few can escape his vengeance.

 **Quintus's Old Journal** — A tattered manuscript written by a scholar named Quintus. Though many of its pages are missing, there is still plenty to be gleaned from the lessons recorded within. Strangely, much of the text is complemented by musical notation.

 **Sentinel's Key** — A golden key granted to the Sentinels of Cardinal Richter. Unlocks the door to the cathedral. After the Cardinals slew the traitorous Xyne, they retreated to the cathedral for reasons unknown.

 **St. Habard's Iron** — A branding iron crafted by Sentinel Habard. Its circular brand is designed to counteract infections, but only if caught in the early stages. Despite his best efforts, Saint Habard lost many allies to the feral scourge that once ravaged the lands.

 **Warding Chime** — A unique chime that also functions as a shield. Often used by Sentinels to grant protection. The Sentinels have long defended the Basilica from danger, most notably the beasts of the Bottomless Pit and the Nephel, unholy spawn of the Propagator. They hold little guilt over vanquishing these sworn enemies.


	11. Steeple of Inquisition

**11\. Steeple of Inquisition**

.

The man crouched behind the Four Cardinals statue as a procession of golden knights and vacants marched by. He waited until they passed from sight, then dashed for cover beside a wooden stake. He stayed watchful of the skies, fearing the angels might drop down at any moment.

Another movement caught his eye, and he crouched again as two bird-masked Inquisitors entered the courtyard, unaware of his presence. They continued to the base of a soaring tower, unlocked the heavily barred door, then disappeared into the spire.

The Lucid One formed a theory. If the Sentinels held one of the cathedral's keys, the Inquisitors might have the other. If so, it was likely kept in that guarded steeple. Besides, he still had the Inquisitor's slime-coated keys, which would certainly grant him entry. It was his best and only choice.

He reached the doorway, then tore the fetid keyring from his pocket. It took him a moment to find the right fit, but soon the entrance opened with a creak. As he stepped past the threshold, a peculiar and unexpected sound reached his ears.

Someone was playing an organ with fervent enthusiasm.

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* * *

.

The antechamber was bathed in indigo light, emanating from crystal beacons along the walls. They shimmered between statues of hooded figures cradling ornamental staves, casting shadows across the black-and-white checkered tiles. Above, the domed ceiling depicted a scene from legend. A man dressed as royalty knelt before Cardinal Andros, with his unmistakable mitre and golden cross-spear. At the nobleman's back was a mountain of riches, and in the clouds above, a choir of juvenile angels rejoiced.

The Lucid One ignored all this; he was fixated on the organist ahead. The hunched, black-robed figure was larger than any man, sporting a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of ragged raven wings that shed feathers with each impassioned stroke of the keys. The enormous organ had glass pipes stretching out of sight, and the sounds issuing from it were jarring, each chord clashing dissonantly, creating a squall of pandemonium that echoed throughout the tower.

The only benefit to the noise was that it masked his approach. As he entered the chamber, he gazed up into the hollow spire. Overhead were perpendicular stone beams with a crystalline chandelier hanging from its center, and far above, countless walkways crisscrossed like a chaotic spider's web. Screams of torment drifted from up high, drowned out by the bellowing organ.

To either side were twin staircases curving along the walls. The Lucid One crept towards the left, eyes locked on the maniacal organ player, and quietly ascended.

As he neared the top, a caged door suddenly swung open. An Inquisitor stepped through, holding a black cane and blue-tinted lantern. This one wore no mask, revealing sunken eyes and ashen skin, and immediately pointed a finger at the intruder as his pale face stretched into a terrifying howl.

The raucous music stopped abruptly. The organist raised its billed facemask, glass goggles magnifying its clouded eyes, and the mottled wings spread wide in a burst of black feathers. As it retrieved its cane from the floor, the opposite door flung open, and two more Inquisitors rushed in.

Without hesitation, the Lucid One charged ahead, hoping to overpower the lone enemy and escape. The Inquisitor raised his lantern and released a miasma of purple mist that enveloped the man, burning his eyes and throat. He covered his face as he choked, fighting the instinct to retreat, then forced himself onward.

As he stumbled through the cloud, the Inquisitor locked the door with a snap. The Lucid One whipped his cane in fury, but the opponent tumbled over it and struck back with his own cane. The man nearly fell down the steps as he leaned to avoid the blow.

Across the room, the others closed in, following a walkway that curved behind the glass pipes. Below, the organist raised its cane and launched an orb of bubbling shadows from its gold pommel. The Lucid One rolled, but too soon; the viscous sphere swerved in midair and burst over his body. He staggered on his feet as the darkness seep painfully through his clothes and skin.

A black cane cracked across his face, sending his vision reeling, then another miasma washed over him. He lost his sense of direction and dove wildly to escape the mist, its poison building in his veins, while the Inquisitors rushed after him, canes raised like spears. He ignored the nauseating toxins and dodged between the numerous blows. One caught him across the temple, then another nearly impaled his shoulder, but he rolled past as it slammed into the walkway.

The organist fired a second orb at him. He deflected it with his shield, and when its chimes rang, he recalled the miracle he had learned. Summoning every ounce of faith, he thrust the shield high.

As the Inquisitors neared, rings of light constricted around their waists, and they suddenly struggled with each dragging step. The man repeatedly whipped the first two targets, shredding cloth and skin, until they dropped into lifeless heaps.

From his periphery, the Lucid One spotted another dark projectile, and dove behind the organ pipes for cover. The sphere shattered the glass, raining shards across the floor. He shielded himself from the jagged pieces, but the last Inquisitor also fired a deep-blue sphere. This time, he waited until it was close before leaping aside. The spell sailed past before exploding harmlessly against the wall.

In an instant, his staff snapped forward, impaling the Inquisitor's throat. The gaunt figure choked as the weapon returned, then the man charged forward to club him over the head. The crystal pommel cracked against his skull, and the enemy tumbled limply from the walkway.

The organist screeched as it soared upward on molting wings. The Lucid One dove to avoid the golden pommel, which cracked against the marble tiles. As the wispy sorcerer floated down, he cast a soul arrow into its chest, causing it to recoil violently.

With a wave of its cane, four dark masses appeared above its pointed hat, each with a smaller pair of orbs like misshapen eyes. As one, they floated towards him. The spheres moved slowly, but he knew they would pursue him like the others. Gripping his silver staff, he waited until they were right before him, then dropped to the floor and rolled off the walkway. The spheres tried to follow, but burst against the ground with a wet splash.

The Lucid One tumbled into open air, straight at the winged organist, and plunged his staff through its glass goggles. The creature shrieked in agony as he drove it deeper, then its clawed hands flung him off. The Inquisitor clutched its broken mask, flailing blindly, and he pressed his advantage.

He shot an orb of light into the air, which exploded in a shower of arrows. As they rained down on the enemy, he simultaneously lashed out, landing three blows. The Inquisitor swung its cane, but the Lucid One dodged low and counterattacked from behind. He whipped once, then the staff snapped together. Gripping it like a sword, he drove it between the dark angel's wings.

The creature gave a shrill cry as it folded, fading to ash around him, until all that was left was the shattered white mask on the floor. The Lucid One shook the dust from his cane, then drew some purple blossoms from his pockets and chewed them eagerly, purging the poison from his body.

Something else glinted within the soot pile. Leaning down, he brushed aside the remains to find a silver ring with a square, purple gemstone. He inspected it curiously, then slipped it on his finger. Though its properties were a mystery, any assistance was welcomed at this point.

He gazed around the chamber, now eerily silent without the discordant music. Even the mournful echoes from above had ceased. As he climbed the staircase again, he sipped his Estus to restore some energy, then withdrew the slimy keys from his pocket. After a few tries, the door unlocked, and he journeyed on into the tower.

.

* * *

.

The next hallway was devoid of illumination. Only the soft glow of the seal on his forehead lit the stone path. The man climbed a short stairwell before reaching a curved corridor, with heavily barred gates lining either side. To the left was a lever, which he ignored. His concern was drawn to the groans coming from the gated rooms.

Moving forward, he realized this was a prison ward. Each cell was full of lamenting vacants, chained and cuffed in uncomfortable positions. Some wore iron restraints around their necks, forcing their arms to either side, while others had their hands trapped before them in supplicating poses. One poor soul hung by his wrists from behind, shoulders dislocated, toes barely touching the floor. Yet another had his arms bound, numerous needles penetrating his body.

The Lucid One stared at the atrocities as he passed. He noticed each prisoner had a blackened seal on their forehead, scabbed over and shedding no light. Some showed signs of infection, with gangrene spreading across their faces.

A metallic screech made him jump. A blue light appeared around the bend as a pair of masked Inquisitors approached, spotting him immediately. Both produced parchments from their black robes and slid them along their canes, coating their weapons with a slimy purple substance. Then, they charged.

The man ran for the lever, using both hands to force it down. As expected, the cell bars began to rise. The Inquisitors paused, glancing around in alarm as the vacants marveled at their freedom. In an instant, they flooded the corridor, falling upon their captors with vengeance.

As the Inquisitors vanished beneath the shriveled bodies, the Lucid One rushed in, weaving between the claws and chains flailing wildly. A prisoner lunged at him with bound hands grasping, but his silver cane lanced through its mouth and out the other side. He never slowed as he tore it free, kicking another vacant from his path.

He rounded the bend and slammed into the exit, fumbling for his keys, while the cries behind him drew closer. At last, he unlocked the door and slid through, shutting it tight, then fell back as frail hands reached through the bars, trying to drag him back into the mindless mob.

He turned away from the insane prisoners, finding a spiraling stairwell lit by blue crystals. With a weary sigh, he continued to climb.

.

* * *

.

After many turns, he came to one of the bridges spanning the tower. There were no guardrails, only a dizzying drop to the chamber below. Numerous cages hung by chains from above, some human-shaped, others like massive birdcages.

He refrained from looking down as he crossed to the other side, where he found a sturdy oak door with a grated window. Through it, he beheld two masked Inquisitors hunched over a screaming vacant, restrained in a metal chair. A complex contraption forced its head back, and prying clamps pulled its mouth open. One Inquisitor used a pair of steaming cold tongs to stretch out their captive's tongue, while the other carefully severed it with a scalpel. Blood gushed from the wound, but most poured down the vacant's throat, and the Inquisitor dabbed the excess spillage with a cloth.

Carefully, the Lucid One tried the handle, which gave way with a faint click. With the Inquisitors distracted, he burst headlong into the room. Their masks snapped up in surprise, and they hastily dropped their tools to draw their weapons.

Taking the initiative, he cast a soul shower into the ceiling, where it exploded over the twin targets. As they were pelted by projectiles, the man caught movement from the corner of his eye, and barely blocked a third Inquisitor's cane. He had been hidden from view in the corner, and further back, another captive lay strapped to a table, countless needles pincushioning his body.

The Inquisitor swung again, his gold pommel clanging against the shield's bells. The Lucid One struck back, but the opponent tumbled under the whipping staff and joined his companions. All three withdrew parchments from their robes, glazed their weapons with purple slime, then charged as one.

He backpedaled desperately as their canes staked into the floor. He lashed out again, but the trio dodged the attack with ease, then one raised his lantern and spewed forth a purple mist. The man covered his face against the poison, though oddly, it did not burn as badly. However, two bubbling spheres shot through the cloud and collided with him, nearly knocking him down with their force.

As he staggered, an Inquisitor leapt through the mist and jabbed a slimy cane between his ribs. The man gasped as the poisonous substance soaked into his lungs, but quickly retaliated by driving his staff through the enemy's shoulder. He kicked his foe back, then the segmented staff flailed viciously. The Inquisitor was whipped twice across his body as the others advanced.

The Lucid One tried casting his miracle, but a pommel slammed into his stomach. As he fought for breath, a second cane cracked him over the head. He stumbled back, warm blood trickling down his cheek, then another liquid sphere raced towards him. He barely dodged in time, and it flew past to explode over the table-bound vacant. It screeched in agony, tore one arm free of its leather restraints, and began clawing at the others.

The Inquisitors charged again, giving the man no time to collect himself. He blocked a thrust, dodged beneath a swing, then caught a blow across his back. He raised his shield in desperation, but the next strike was too strong and knocked his guard aside. Left wide open, he could only watch as an Inquisitor gripped his shoulder and ran him through the midsection, dropping him to his knees.

The trio gather around, preparing their deathblows. Suddenly, a thin needle slid through one of their necks. The Inquisitor collapsed as the vacant roared in victory, having freed itself from the table, and leapt upon its captors with abandon, tearing out the needles to use as weapons.

While the Inquisitors were occupied, the Lucid One took the opportunity to cast his miracle. Rings of light surrounded the others, hindering their movements, but the frenzied prisoner ignored it. With a needle in each fist, it drove them through the eyepieces of an Inquisitor's mask, and he fell to the floor in spasms.

The last one launched a watery sphere at the vacant. It shrieked as the spell burst over its withered body. The man began casting a soul arrow, but the Inquisitor flung a knife into his forearm. He winced in pain, almost dropping his staff as the poisoned blade tainted his flesh.

As the miracle faded, the vacant was upon the Inquisitor in an instant, driving another needle into his chest. They struggled for a moment, until the black sorcerer finally rammed his cane through the prisoner's jaw. The tip burst from its skull, and the vacant gave one last moan as it slumped in defeat.

The Lucid One thrust his separated staff, catching the enemy's mask and knocking it aside. The gaunt visage spun to him howling, cane raised, but the man struck repeatedly and interrupted his spellcasting. He rolled forward, lashing the target across the face, then blocked a counterattack. The staff snapped together, and with grim determination, he plunged it into the center of the Inquisitor's chest. The sorcerer's pale features went slack as he toppled over with a dying gasp.

Gasping with exhaustion, the man went to retrieve his purple moss, but stopped. Despite his poisoned wounds, he did not feel its effects, and glanced down at the silver ring in understanding. It must be magically resistant to toxins, giving him a much-needed advantage against the Inquisitor's arsenal.

With the battle over, he drank greedily from his flasks, then glanced around. Various torture devices lay about the chamber, across tables, and mounted on walls. The other vacant was still bound to the chair, gurgling incoherently through its bloodied maw. The Lucid One searched for an exit, then noticed another heavy door to the side. As he approached, he found a sealed chamber, but what lay inside made his mouth go slack.

He needed a better look, so he pushed the door open and slowly approached. A dissected creature lay on an operating table, its internal organs left intact. The being was unlike anything he had seen before. It was a mess of tentacles, with moist, silver-blue skin. There was no face, just a lump of flesh and a narrow stinger. Its only remotely human feature was its four-fingered arms.

Plastered to the the wall was a diagram depicting the deceased thing, with numbers and notes detailing its anatomy. In one corner of the parchment was the word _Nephel_.

Then, he remembered. He had seen this creature before in the sewers, though that one had been turned to stone. Either way, its abnormal appearance made his skin crawl.

Beside the operating table stood a small basin holding a golden vial. The Lucid One picked it up curiously, its liquid contents swaying as he turned it over. It was an elixir of some kind, and though he did not know its effect, he found a pocket to store it in for safekeeping.

There was nothing else of interest in the room, so he left the mysterious creature to carry on with his mission.

.

* * *

.

After another twisting stairway, he arrived at a second bridge. He was near the top of the tower now, and balanced carefully as he crossed the chasm. Beside him hung a massive cage containing another tentacled creature, though this one was petrified and much larger. Blue flowers sprouted from its stone tendrils, and dozens of needles were embedded in its solid flesh.

The Lucid One ignored the monstrosity and pressed on, climbing even more curling stairs, until he came to an extravagant hall. A lush violet carpet stretched across its length, and glistening chandeliers hung overhead. Along the walls were a series of paintings, each one illustrating some fabled event. One portrayed the Basilica surrounded by tumultuous waves; another showed a fleet of ships departing from its walls. In the next, Cardinal Andros pierced a black dragon's neck with his spear, then an ominous knight stood before a kingdom in flames.

He paused before a painting of the Inquisitors battling a horde of feral beasts, with three winged figures leading the charge. The first had armor covered in thorns, including his greatsword, all bathed in the enemies' blood. The second wore a distinct helmet shaped like the very beasts he fought. His shield was emblazoned with a hound's head, and his ornate sword was oddly thick and rectangular. The third was a woman with silver hair flowing from her winged helm, and an elegant longbow launching volleys of flaming blue arrows.

Though the artwork was beautiful, he could not waste precious time. He continued to a pair of tall silver doors decorated in angels and laced vines. With great effort, he heaved them open and entered the final chamber.

The first thing he noticed was a large golden brazier in the center of the room, lit by a dark blue flame that illuminated the grand portrait ahead. It depicted a single figure, the same horse-helmed Cardinal as the statue outside. Twin curved blades crossed his chest, red-gold and silver-black, with cerulean embers dancing around them. Beneath it was a plaque bearing his name — _Cardinal Lycian, Grand Inquisitor._

In front of the painting was a bookstand holding a thick black tome, and just above it hung a silver key. Relief washed over him as he quickly pocketed the treasure, praying it was the one he sought. Before leaving, he grabbed the tome as well, certain that the pale snake could find some use for it.

As he turned to depart, pools of shadows bubbled from the floor. His elation vanished as a pair of winged Inquisitors rose from the darkness, each wielding a wicked scythe. They rang their silver chimes, wreathing the blades in deep blue flames, then rushed at him with beating wings.

The first scythe whistled past his head as he rolled, but the second sliced into his chest. The man clutched the bleeding wound, feeling the poison flood his veins again, then a blade nearly severed his leg. He dove aside, each cut numbed by a bitter coldness, and tried striking back with his whipping cane. The Inquisitors dodged swiftly on black wings, then thrust their scythes at his neck.

He avoided the first, but the second nicked him with its curved tip, drawing a gout of dark blood from his arteries. Not only was the poison congealing, so potent that his ring was near useless, but he was slowly bleeding out. His strength faded as he fell back from the twin strikes, constantly on the move, unable to heal himself. He needed a distraction.

He rolled beside the great brazier, and as the dark angels closed in, he kicked with his good leg. The bowl tipped over, spilling blue flames across the floor along with blackened bones, causing the Inquisitors to recoil. He hastily drew his sapphire flask and chugged, partially healing his wounds. Even so, the blood still streamed out, and the poison kept stinging.

Amidst the scattered bones, he spotted a glistening skull, and gave silent praise to Nos. Acting quick, he booted the skull across the room, where it shattered against the wall in a cloud of crystalline dust. His enemies instantly raced after it, seeking to devour the shimmering haze.

With their attention occupied, the Lucid One thrust his cane into the cold flames, which clung to its silver segments. In a flash, he lashed the angels across their backs, drawing cries as feathers dispersed in a flurry.

The crystal haze evaporated, and the Inquisitors spun in outrage. They swiped at him with renewed vigor, forcing him to dive madly. A scythe slashed into his back, sending him sprawling, then he rolled sideways as another axed into the floor. He came up swinging, catching one of the sorcerers over the face, and followed with a powerful thrust. The Inquisitor slouched lethargically, but the other flew in and almost decapitated him in a single stroke.

He countered with two lashes, forcing his foe back. The blue flames faded from his staff, but also from the scythes, and the angels were moving slower now. He realized they had been poisoned by the same cold fire that infected him. It was only a matter of time until they succumbed to it.

The man circled the toppled brazier, keeping it between them, until one of the Inquisitors soared above the flames and slammed its weapon down. He tumbled aside and struck back, dealing a harsh blow as the other charged. He tried to block its scythe, but the curved blade reached over the shield and tore through his shoulder. He forced it back with another swing as his blood poured profusely. At this rate, he would be dead long before the enemy.

He rolled far back to drink from his flasks, only to find them empty. He balked as the Inquisitors closed in. His life was ticking away, and even as he dodged the sweeping scythes, despair overcame him. He was out of options.

Suddenly, he remembered the golden vial in his pocket. Taking a distancing leap, he pulled it out, tore off the stopper, and without knowing what it might do, he chugged the silver liquid.

To his amazement, the mysterious elixir fully cured him. His wounds sealed shut, the poison vanished from his veins, and he was rejuvenated completely. The angels charged with a shriek, but he dodged right between their blades, then turned to cast his soul shower.

As arrows of light pelted their shadowy forms, the Lucid One thrashed them vehemently with his cane. One of the Inquisitors collapsed, weak from the poison, and he finished it off with a thrust through its collarbone. The creature wailed as it crumbled to ash, while its companion stared in sudden terror.

Its hesitation only fueled the man's resolve. His cane shone as he fired a soul arrow into its chest, then quickly closed the distance and whipped in succession. The scythe bore down on him, but this time he blocked it perfectly, though the blow nearly flung him off his feet. He tumbled back to avoid a second swing, prepared to shoot another soul arrow, then paused. The Inquisitor sunk to the floor, gradually dissipating into smoke, and gave one last cry as the poison devoured it at last.

He lowered his cane hesitantly, anticipating another ambush, but the tower was silent once again. The Lucid One looked himself over, astounded at the elixir's effect. He had been near death, and now he felt better than ever. Pushing his awe aside, he returned through the hall of paintings and back down the stairwell, before more enemies came to challenge him.

As he crossed the lofty bridge, he paused. The cages that hung from the ceiling were connected to gears, though there was no lever in sight. After weighing his options, he decided to step into the open cage, and with a jerk, it automatically began to descend. It carried him all the way down to the balcony overlooking the organ, still surrounded by Inquisitors' corpses. He paid them no mind as he headed for the entrance, glad to be rid of this torturous place.

.

* * *

.

The Lucid One peered around cautiously before exiting the tower. Once more, the courtyard was empty, without an enemy in sight. Exhaling in relief, he pushed the door completely open and stepped through, then froze.

He was wrong. The courtyard was not entirely empty. A familiar face stood before the statue of the Four Cardinals, arms lifted in praise. It was Brother Edson, crying out joyously. Unnerved, the man stepped past the burnt stakes and hesitantly approached the zealous Sentinel.

As he drew closer, Edson finally noticed him. "Hello, brother!" he shouted, causing the man to cringe in fear. He expected the angels to come swarming, but they never did. "How fortunate that you should appear now, of all times! I owe you my sincerest gratitude!"

Then, he saw it. At his feet was the copper breaking wheel, with another familiar figure strewn between its spokes. It was Lady Serise. Her bandanas had fallen away, revealing haggard features, splayed brown curls, and a blackened seal upon her forehead. Her arms and legs twisted unnaturally through the wheel, and her empty eyes stared into the clouded sky.

She was dead.

The Lucid One fought back a sickening sensation that bubbled in his throat. "I found this wretch sneaking through the catacombs," Brother Edson carried on, oblivious to his revulsion. "It was only because of you that I was aware of her trespassing. Without your help, who knows what manner of sin she may have committed!"

The man balked, realizing the terrible truth. He had summoned the Sentinel in the tombs. He had revealed Serise's presence. It was all his fault.

"Now, this poor soul can join the others along the wall and atone for her crimes. Please, brother, accept this gift as a token of my thanks." Edson held out a gloved hand, and in his palm was a pale tongue resting on a bloody cloth — Serise's tongue.

The Lucid One finally turned from the horror, afraid of what he might do should he stay. As he left, the Sentinel called out, "Ah, of course! You have a meeting with the Cardinals. Your selfless sacrifice shall never be forgotten, friend! Nos bless you!"

His knuckles went white as he approached the cathedral. There would be no more sacrifices. He had not come this far only to surrender his mortal soul. He had not suffered all these trials simply to die in vain.

No matter what, he would kill the Cardinals.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Darklight Blade** — A forbidden miracle discovered by Cardinal Lycian, the Grand Inquisitor. Coats a weapon in dark, toxic flames. The existence of Darklight magic has confounded scholars for centuries, for its own nature seems to contradict itself. In spite of their research, the Inquisitors keep its origins a closely guarded secret.

 **Deep Orb** — A sorcery taught to novice Inquisitors. Fires a cloud of deep souls that pursues its target. Even in death, the lost souls of the deep continue to serve their masters.

 **Divine Blessing** — Holy water blessed by the angel Samaras. Cures all wounds and ailments. The Divine Mother pines for her lost children, and seeks to alleviate their anguish.

 **Grudgery** — A sorcery taught only to High Inquisitors. Summons a mass of deep souls which pursue their target. The great flood claimed many lives, and their souls still envy the living to this day.

 **Inquisitor Cane** — A staff used by Inquisitors. Functions as a catalyst or club. The Inquisitors fought many wars under Cardinal Lycian, and were trained in both the arts of warfare and sorcery.

 **Inquisitor Lantern** — A talisman crafted by the Inquisition. It is filled with a dark, heatless flame. The Inquisitors served as vanguards of the Cardinals' army, chosen from only the highest ranking Sentinels.

 **Inquisitor's Esoteric Tome** — A cryptic tome of the Inquisition, written in code. The followers of Cardinal Lycian safely guard their secrets, and none outside their ranks know of their concealed history. Scholars have long speculated on these tales, but few could guess the profane truth.

 **Inquisitor's Key** — A silver key granted to the Inquisitors of Cardinal Lycian. Unlocks the door to the old cathedral. During the war with the Nephel, the Cardinals stayed within the old cathedral, and dictated orders through their subordinates.

 **Pale Tongue** — A severed tongue drained of blood. The Inquisitors often take these as trophies from sinners, relieving them of their source of temptation.

 **Poisonbite Ring** — A ring worn by High Inquisitors. Reduces poison damage. Toxins were employed in the Nephel wars to great success, but unfortunately, they also claimed the lives of many Inquisitors.

 **Toxic Mist** — A guarded miracle of the Inquisition. Creates a hanging cloud of toxic mist. When Samaras spawned unholy abominations, the Inquisitors turned the seas dark with poison in an attempted purge.

 **Toxic Resin** — A parchment of toxic resin that applies poison to a weapon. Used extensively by Inquisitors for its effectiveness against the Nephel. It is said their pale blood cannot withstand the impurities, which turns their kind to stone.

 **War Scythe** — A great scythe used by the Inquisition. Causes bleeding. During the Nephel wars, the Inquisitors were granted pardons to employ these weapons, which bled their enemies dry.

* * *

 **Saint Karine:** deviantart (dankbouls87/art/Saint-Karine-the-Archer-769229678)


	12. The Four Cardinals

**12\. The Four Cardinals**

.

The double doors of the cathedral loomed over him. Drawing the gold and silver keys from his pocket, he placed them in their respective keyholes.

They didn't fit.

The man frowned in confusion and studied them again, certain they were a perfect match. He tried a second time, but the keys refused to work. He stood for a moment, perplexed, then decided to switch them.

This time, they slid in effortlessly. The gold key unlocked the silver door, and the silver key unlocked the gold door. With a heavy groan, the entrance to the cathedral opened on its own.

As the Lucid One stepped inside, an enormous statue of the Illuminator greeted him. The gold-wrought effigy stood over twenty feet tall, his seven angelic wings folded behind him. He had the body of a man, with bulging muscles bursting between his elaborate armor, but the head of a falcon, featuring a sharp hooked beak and a row of curled horns resembling a crown. A serpentine tail covered in feathers curled around his legs, which ended in a pair of reptilian claws.

To his relief, a lantern rested just before the statue. He sat beside its gentle glow and fell asleep almost immediately.

.

* * *

.

The Well Maiden faced him as the shrine shimmered into view. "Welcome home, Lucid One. Please, kneel and claim thy legacy."

Once again, the man bowed before the ethereal maiden, and she touched her wrinkled fingers to his seal. The light flooded his mind and ears, building to a near intolerable pitch. In a moment, the ritual was over, and he rose with newfound power.

"Thy destiny awaits thee," the maiden continued. "Thou shalt soon stand before the Cardinals, exalted by the angels. Remember why thou must fight, why thou must persevere. The shards of the Lordbrandt must be retrieved at any cost. All our hopes rest upon thine shoulders.

"There is but little time. Rest for now, Lucid One, until the dream returneth thee to the waking world."

He nodded his thanks, then looked to the luminous white tree. Before he awoke, he wanted to learn what secrets the tomes held.

.

* * *

.

The pale serpent was resting in its usual spot. Its violet eyes glistened as the man approached. "So, you're back again. What mysteries shall we unravel this time?"

The Lucid One showed it the first tome, recovered from the Inquisitors. As he raised it to the branches, Ryn suddenly hissed, making him recoil in shock. " _Hss!_ Keep that atrocious thing away from me! I'd rather die a thousand times than touch an Inquisitor's teachings. Those blasphemers worship an ancient evil, meddled with knowledge no mortal should possess. I will never forgive their crimes against mine kin."

Taken aback, he placed the book down amidst the roots, then produced the tattered manuscript from the catacombs. This time, the snake's eyes sparkled eagerly.

"Ah, now this is something worth studying. I heard tales of a scholar who experimented in sound sorcery, but I've never had the honor of laying eyes upon his work. What a fascinating discovery."

Ryn flipped through the brittle pages with its tail. "We've not the time to indulge all its secrets, but I can certainly give you the basics. It will no doubt come in handy against the divine beings you must face. Forget your soul sorceries, manling, and listen close.

"Sound sorcery is unique, as it does not draw power from the soul. It is the actualization of your inner voice. All mortals have it, even one as silent as yourself. The saints would have you believe this voice is Nos speaking through you, but pay no mind to those fools. Your voice is your own, and once you accept this, you'll have taken the first step towards harnessing its potential..."

.

* * *

.

His eyes blinked open as he awakened. He was back in the cathedral, resting beside the lantern as if he had never left. Of course, his refilled flasks proved otherwise, plus the arcane knowledge he gained. Though his new spell was elementary, the very concept of sound sorcery was foreign to him. He only hoped he could cast it properly when the time came.

Gathering his belongings, the man rose to his feet, then circled around the great golden statue. There he found an enormous archway full of swirling mist, the same fog that had trapped him before. He thought he could see twisted visages emerge briefly, but they dissipated before he could be certain. He gazed up at the arch's cornerstone, noting an inscription upon its marble surface—

 _MEMENTO NON MORI_

Hesitantly, he reached a hand into the mist, which gave way without resistance. He knew that once he crossed through, it would not let him return so easily. He reminded himself of his promise, of his destiny, and with a steadying breath, he entered.

The chamber beyond was incredibly vast. Every surface shone of polished white marble. Soaring pillars surrounded an expansive platform, and four gilded thrones lay across from each other at equal distances. In the center sat a brazier filled with white flame. Before it, three imposing figures stood silently.

The Cardinals.

Slowly, they turned to face him. On the right was Cardinal Richter, clad in embellished plate mail, with a crowned helm concealing his face. Four hawkish wings grew from his back, and in one hand, he wielded a sturdy gemmed scepter containing a bell at the top. In the other was a complex crossbow, its multiple strings resembling a loom.

To the left was Cardinal Lycian, the Grand Inquisitor. Crimson eyes peered from the base of his horse-helmet, replete with flowing red mane, and four raven wings hung from his shoulders like a cape. Tufts of black hair jutted between the lithe silver armor, and hoofed legs stood inverted beneath the leather and chainmail skirt. In his clawed hands were twin daggers, gold-red and silver-black, their blades warped and deformed.

The central figure was Cardinal Andros, the Holy Seer. His gold-and-white cassock was immaculate, as were his five colorless wings. Patterned lappets draped around his shoulders, and on his head rested the pointed mitre crowned by three tiaras. Twin strips of purple cloth covered his face, with six blinders down its length. Gripped in his gold-chain gloves was the infamous cross-spear, tipped by a gleaming yellow crystal that spiraled from the symbol of Nos.

For a moment, the man stood transfixed by their heavenly presence, wholly forgetting his reason for being there. Then, Andros tapped the butt of his spear against the floor, and the others charged.

The battle had begun.

.

* * *

.

Lycian was the first to reach him, sweeping his twin blades in a horizontal arc. The Lucid One dived low, but before he could strike back, Richter brought his scepter crashing down. He leapt aside as the bell clanged against the decorative floor, echoing throughout the spacious chamber.

He lashed out with his cane, whipping Cardinal Richter over the helm, though it left barely a dent. The scepter swung again, missing him by a hair's width, then Lycian rushed in with daggers flailing. The man dodged the first swipe, but the next caught him in an upward stroke, sending him flying. He landed on his back as the gold blade stabbed down, and he barely rolled away in time.

As he clambered to his feet, a sharp crackle came from behind, then the crystal spearhead pierced through his abdomen. He writhed in agony as Andros lifted him off the ground, and with a deafening peal, lightning erupted through his body. In a single stroke, the Cardinal flung the charred figure across the room.

He struggled to stand as the angels circled him like birds of prey. Raising his staff, he cast a soul shower above their heads, and light rained over the divine beings. They twitched as soul arrows pummeled them, but seemed entirely unharmed. Richter barreled through the projectiles and swung his scepter, forcing the Lucid One to evade, then Lycian impaled both blades in his chest and tore to either side, rending through his ribcage.

Falling to the floor, the man dragged himself behind one of the towering thrones. He hastily drank from his sapphire flask, healing his gaping wounds, but Lycian flew around and slashed at him. He tumbled away as the silver dagger sparked against the throne, then thrust his staff into the angel's chest. The Grand Inquisitor jerked back, but instantly rushed him again without mercy.

The twin blades twirled about in a vicious dance, nearly slicing him to ribbons. As he desperately avoided death, he heard the crossbow click, and dove aside as Richter unleashed a volley of lightning bolts. The strings sprang in succession, forcing him to block, but three arrows embedded into his leg and hip. He winced in pain, then raised his shield high, determined to slow the Cardinals.

To his relief, the golden rings contracted around the angels, hindering their movements. As soon as they appeared, however, Richter rang his bell side to side, and shimmering auras encompassed each figure. The rings shattered, then Lycian instantly charged, freed from the binding miracle.

The Lucid One stared in disbelief as the twin blades crossed through his torso, splattering blood over the pristine tiles. He rolled away before they could strike again, then whipped his cane against the iron-cast horse head. The Grand Inquisitor ignored the blows, and the gold dagger flashed as it cut deep through his abdomen.

Richter soared in, his bell-scepter nearly crushing the man beneath its bulk. The Lucid One spun to the shimmering knight and prepared his new spell, praying it would work. The quartz pommel sang, then a bolt of invisible sound rippled through the air, piercing right through the Cardinal's aura. To his amazement, the stalwart giant doubled over in agony.

He had no time to celebrate the small victory. Andros thrust his crackling spear and launched a ray of lightning from its tip, blasting the Lucid One with deadly energy. He collapsed to his knees, skin smoldering, then Lycian spun his blades in a rising sweep, sending the man sprawling.

This time, he could not stand. He struggled just to draw his sapphire flask and chug again, healing most of his injuries. Only one more sip remained, while the Cardinals were barely harmed. Glancing over his shoulder, he dared to take another drink, this time from his Estus. The liquid fire flooded his veins, and the man leapt to his feet once more, refusing to surrender.

As Lycian sped towards him, he twirled his staff overhead, dealing a powerful blow to a hoofed leg. Richter bore down, but he dodged the hammering scepter and jammed his cane between the layered armor. The brute grunted as it slid deep, then immediately retaliated with another swing. The Lucid One tried to block, but the heavy bell knocked his guard wide, crushing the shield like paper.

The man gaped in horror at the crumpled chimes. He threw the useless armament aside as he jumped back from a third swing. The twin blades swiped over his head, then another crackling bolt almost struck him head-on. He was exhausted from the constant evasion, surrounded on all sides, and fought back in a desperate frenzy. His silver cane flailed madly, whipping Lycian three times across the chest, then he tumbled away and lashed Richter across his thigh.

The crossbow came up. He rolled straight ahead as bolts flew past, landing behind the Cardinal, and slashed through the knight's golden-brown wings. A howl echoed from his visor, and the Lucid One felt emboldened. Even these divine creatures could feel pain.

Summoning all his strength, he swung again, but Richter caught the segmented staff in his armored fist. With a powerful tug, the silver thread snapped, and the cane flew from the man's grip as its broken pieces scattered across the floor.

He could only watch in despair as the bell slammed into his chest, hurling him against the wall and shattering his ribs. He landed in a heap, not even bothering to retrieve his flasks. He was without a weapon. He was defenseless.

He had failed.

.

* * *

.

As the three Cardinals closed in, the fog behind them rippled, and another figure entered the chamber. The fallen man raised his head in surprise, immediately recognizing the leather coat and tricornered hat. In his most dire need, Morrow had come to his aid.

The warrior was armed with new weapons, which the Lucid One recalled from the painting in the Inquisitor's steeple — a greatshield sporting a noble hound's head, and an ornate sword, thick and rectangular, more like a club than a blade. As Morrow took a fighting stance, he called out to the Cardinals.

"So you're the fiends who cursed this land to ruin! Come, face me! You will not stand in the way of my destiny!"

As one, the angels flew at him, and the warrior valiantly stood his ground. When Lycian's blades collided with his greatshield, he shoved back, bashing into the Grand Inquisitor's chest. The Lucid One swore a primal roar echoed from the shield as the Cardinal stumbled. Richter's scepter slammed down, but Morrow dodged, swinging the square sword into his hip and marring the thick armor.

Andros jabbed twice with his spear, barely missing both times. The warrior struck back, though the angel flew away on sweeping wings, then surged forward and ran him through the midsection. The force of the attack sent the man sprawling, but he was on his feet again in an instant, shielding himself from another thrust. His sword came down on the Holy Seer's forearm with a crack, drawing a mixed cry of hurt and indignity. The other Cardinals leapt to their leader's defense, forcing Morrow back with a relentless assault.

While the battle raged, the Lucid One finished off his blessed water, then rushed to help his ally. Without a weapon, the best he could do was distract the enemies and buy Morrow some time. He hammered both fists against Lycian's wings, and the Grand Inquisitor immediately spun, twin daggers racing towards his neck. He somersaulted backwards as the dark angel pursued him, hooves clopping loudly across the marble floor.

Morrow squared off against Cardinal Richter, shielding himself from the scepter, boots slipping with each mighty blow. He countered with a thrust, ramming the flat blade into his opponent's stomach, but Richter barely flinched. As the scepter fell again, Morrow leapt aside, trying to regain his stamina, then the crossbow snapped up. The warrior went pale as a barrage of lightning streaked towards him. He sprinted sideways, bolts screeching past his ears, and at the same time, Andros launched a crackling electric ray. Morrow took a final tumble, miraculously unharmed, then noticed the other man desperately avoiding Lycian's slashing blades.

"Nameless One!" he shouted. "Catch!"

Morrow tossed a staff at him, and the Lucid One snatched it in midair. It was an Inquisitor's cane. No sooner had it touched his hand than he thrust it forward, shooting a sound bolt into Lycian's horse-head. The Cardinal wobbled as the metal reverberated painfully, and Morrow took the opening to strike him over the back, dropping him to one knee. The Lucid One drove his cane through the helmet's eyehole, and Lycian fell back with an inhuman shriek.

Before they could land a deathblow, Andros raised his cross-spear high. Thunder boomed through the chamber as pillars of lightning stormed all around them. The men dodged madly between the perilous bolts, but were eventually struck and paralyzed, their flesh searing.

Richter blitzed forward and battered Morrow, knocking him against a throne. At the same time, Lycian rose and struck his blades together, igniting them with dark blue flames. He twirled after the Lucid One, who barely avoided the cyclone of steel and shadow. A final spin caught him across the shoulder, leaving cold poison seeping through his skin.

Morrow drank quickly from his sapphire flask as the knight closed in. With beating wings, Richter soared high before crashing down feet-first, but the warrior dove away and raced across the room. He took Lycian by surprise, bludgeoning him from behind. In a flash, the flaming daggers ripped twice through Morrow's body, inflicting their tainted wounds, and he gasped in numb shock.

As Lycian raised his blades again, the Lucid One cast a second sound bolt into his back, then another. The Grand Inquisitor whirled on him, slashing in a rabid frenzy, but somehow he avoided the flurry of blows. He saw a brief opening, and lunged forward with cane outstretched. It pierced through the other eyehole, and the angel screamed in agony.

Before he could press the offense, Richter's crossbow showered him in lightning. There was no time to dodge. As the projectiles pierced his body, Morrow dove in front of him, shield raised, and deflected the brunt of the attack. Bolts ricocheted off the canine head, then Cardinal Lycian screeched maniacally. His blades tore into the warrior, shredding him without remorse, and Morrow sagged as blood gushed from his countless wounds. The Lucid One knew the poison would overcome him, and hastily reached into his pockets.

He had a single clump of purple blossoms left. It was enough. Moving quick, he shoved the mossy flowers into his friend's hand and threw himself at Lycian. Fighting like a wild animal, he clubbed the Grand Inquisitor over the chest, then tumbled below the flaming daggers and fired a sound bolt at Richter. As the Cardinals raced after him, he charged straight at Andros, drawing all of their attention.

The cross-spear flew towards his head. He slid beneath the crackling crystal and stabbed the Holy Seer in the stomach, tearing his spotless gown. He immediately rolled, anticipating Richter's crashing scepter, then spun around to face them. Before he could act, Lycian thrust his golden dagger through his chest. He lifted the man off his feet, then slammed the blade into the ground, creating a burst of blue fire.

The Lucid One lay motionless, near death. His ring saved him from the poison, but the injuries were too severe. As the daggers rose again, he mustered the last of his strength and rammed the cane into Lycian's inverted kneecap, causing him to wobble and fall. The Grand Inquisitor roared furiously, then suddenly, Morrow's sword bashed him upside the head.

The horse-helm bent at a bizarre angle. With a strained cry, Morrow swung again, practically flattening Lycian's iron mask against his shoulder. There was a heavy snort from the crushed helmet, then the Cardinal crumpled. His twin blades extinguished and clattered to the floor as he faded to black soot.

Richter bellowed in outrage, charging furiously at the warrior. Morrow evaded the scepter, his wounds fully healed, and met the towering knight head-on. As they clashed, the Lucid One drank more Estus to restore his strength, then slid the staff between his cloak. He took up Lycian's curved daggers, which were the size of longswords in his hands, and tried striking them together. To his amazement, the cold, toxic flames burst back to life.

He raced after the skirmishing fighters, but only took a few steps before electricity crackled beside him. He dropped to the floor as lightning streaked overhead, followed by Andros lunging with his spear. The crystal tip flew just past his face, then he countered with twin slashes. The flaming blades cut deep, forcing the Cardinal to retreat with a flap of his wings.

Morrow tried to block Richter's swing, but the heavy bell knocked his greatshield aside. He barely avoided being crushed by the next hammering strike. As the scepter rose again, the Lucid One shredded through each armored leg, right above the ankles. The giant swayed, losing his balance, then Morrow bashed with the roaring greatshield and knocked him off his feet.

As the Cardinal toppled over, the Lucid One reached around his broad shoulders and drew the daggers across his throat. Richter gave a hollow gasp just as Morrow brought his sword crashing down, caving in the crowned helm. The knight finally collapsed onto his back.

Andros wailed wrathfully, raising his spear again as lightning exploded from above. Morrow ducked behind his shield for cover, while the Lucid One dodged frantically between the numerous bolts. By pure luck, he made it through unharmed, and retrieved his staff to cast a soul bolt at the Holy Seer. The invisible arrow penetrated the angel's torso, stunning him briefly, then Morrow charged forward and thrust his sword into the Cardinal's stomach, causing him to double over in pain.

The Lucid One prepared his spell again when he heard a mechanical snap from behind. Without looking, he leapt aside as Richter's crossbow sprayed electric bolts after him, missing by mere inches. The giant struggled to stand, using his scepter for support, but threw himself after the man without regard for his injuries.

The bell flailed madly, keeping the Lucid One on the move. Though the Estus fueled his body, his wounds were still numerous. A single strike from the knight would spell his doom. He weaved dangerously between the heavy blows, until he saw an opening. Rolling behind the armored angel, he stabbed both blades into the base of his wings, and Richter roared as he swung the scepter around. The man tumbled away, barely avoiding certain death.

He backpedaled as the Cardinal chased him, trying to stay out of melee range. Even with his helmet crushed, the giant was deceptively swift, using his powerful wings to propel himself forward. As the Lucid One constantly evaded, Morrow kept Andros occupied, deflecting the shimmering spearhead with his sturdy shield. He struck back, but the angel was too nimble, flittering about while keeping the warrior at length with his golden lance.

The scepter came dangerously close, and the Lucid One began to panic. His endurance was waning. It was only a matter of time before Richter landed a blow and finished him for good. He could not afford to counterattack or cast a spell, requiring all his energy just to stay alive. The bell clanged repeatedly as it crashed down, and he rolled as far away as he could.

As the man came to his feet, the crossbow aimed for him. He froze with dread, knowing he would not be able to avoid the coming onslaught, and prepared for the end. To his surprise, the giant wavered, then lowered his bow. Gray ash seeped from the cracks in his armor, and the bell tolled once more as it hit the ground. At last, the knight collapsed into empty pieces, undone by Lycian's deadly poison.

Morrow leapt aside as a ray of lightning burst from the spearhead. He backed away with shield raised, then spotted the other man standing over the pile of armor. "The crossbow!" he shouted. "Quickly! Throw it to me!"

The Lucid One lifted the heavy weapon in both arms, and with all his might, he heaved it through the air. Morrow swung the greatshield onto his back, caught the crossbow in his left hand, and spun towards Andros in a single motion. The strings snapped as a torrent of electric bolts pummeled the Holy Seer, who screamed as his celestial body was impaled a dozen times over.

The Lucid One snatched up the Inquisitor's curved blades and hurried to his companion's side. Morrow cranked the loading mechanism, and together, they faced the last Cardinal.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Divine Barrier** — A miracle of Cardinal Richter, the "Bastion." Provides an impenetrable defense against nearly all forms of magic. Saint Richter was tasked with building the defenses of the Basilica, most notably the great wall that withstood the floods. It still stands strongly to this day.

 **Dominic's Shield of Valor** — The greatshield once wielded by Dominic the Inquisitor, emblazoned with the head of a canine. During the Nephel wars, Dominic fought bravely alongside his companion, Saint Karine the archer. She mysteriously vanished one fateful mission, and Dominic was loathed to reveal her fate.

 **Dominic's Sword of Mercy** — The greatsword once wielded by Dominic the Inquisitor, with a square blade that can crush enemies like a club. The tale of Saint Dominic ended in tragedy, as he became corrupted by the Nephel and put down by Neron, the Judicator.

 **Escalon** — A repeating crossbow loaded with lightning bolts. It was designed by Cardinal Richter, whose brutish appearance overshadowed his ingenuity. The Cardinal of the South oversaw the defenses of the Basilica, including the powerful ballistae that lined the walls. These were crucial in fending off the Paradrake, with whom he held a personal grudge.

 **Fax & Fel** — Twin daggers wielded by Cardinal Lycian, with blades of gold-red and silver-black. Strike together to reinforce with Darklight. During the Nephel wars, the Cardinal of the West devised increasingly inventive means of dispatching the abominations, but his discovery of the Darklight miracle became known as his crowning achievement.

 **Heaven's Storm** — A miracle of Cardinal Andros, commander of the Radiant Legion. Summons numerous lightning bolts that fall from the skies. When the Illuminator sacrificed his immortal soul to save humanity, its shattered pieces rained down from the heavens. This miracle is a recounting of this fateful moment.

 **Sound Bolt** — A simple sorcery created by the eccentric Quintus of Falmour. Casts an invisible arrow that bypasses all defenses. Though nearly identical to soul sorcery, there is something unique to sound that bolsters this spell's effectiveness.

 **Tinnabulum** — A heavy scepter wielded by Cardinal Richter. It is topped with a bell, and is capable of casting miracles. Once, the twin bells welcomed pilgrims to the Basilica. After the fall of the Watchers, they served as an alarm for intruders.


	13. Cardinal Andros, the Holy Seer

**13\. Cardinal Andros, the Holy Seer**

.

The Cardinal soared at them, his golden spear sweeping wide. The men dove in opposite directions and caught the angel in a pincer attack. The Lucid One's twin blades tore through his leg, while Morrow's sword slammed against his shoulder. Andros screeched as he flew high, then drove his lance straight down in an electric rage. They rolled away, narrowly avoiding impalement, but the spear whirled around and sent Morrow sprawling across the polished floor.

The Lucid One rushed to his defense. Before he could act, the Cardinal spun on him with a flurry of blows, his cross-spear slashing and thrusting, graceful yet deadly. The man dodged between the crackling strikes, terrified that each one might seal his fate. His body had reached its limit, and only the burning Estus in his blood allowed him to endure.

Andros curled back, lance coursing with lightning. As he prepared to strike, Morrow leaped through the air and clubbed the Cardinal across his back, knocking him off-balance. The energy dissipated, but in a flash, Andros whipped around and impaled the warrior, lifting him off the ground. A thunderous explosion emanated from the crystal tip as he was electrocuted, then flung aside like a scorched ragdoll.

The Lucid One scraped his blades together, summoning the dark blue flames again, and lashed out at the Cardinal. The toxic daggers shredded through his vanilla robes, eliciting a sharp cry from the angel. Andros gripped his spear in both hands and slammed it down in a burst of light, almost catching the man as he rolled away from the spreading shock. Coming to one knee, he quickly switched to his new cane, then fired off a sound bolt at the enemy.

To his surprise, the Cardinal sidestepped the spell and lunged forward. He barely had time to dodge the vicious attack, then countered with a second bolt. This time, it connected. Andros readied another thrust, but Morrow intervened, slamming his heavy shield into the angel's side and staggering him. The warrior struck hard with his sword, the Lucid One stabbed deep, and the celestial being wailed against their savage offense.

Turning his lance around, Andros rammed it into the floor, releasing another rippling shockwave that forced the men back. They tumbled out of range, then an electric ray blasted Morrow off his feet. The Lucid One had barely stood when the Cardinal was upon him again, lashing out violently in a series of slashes. He dove low as the spear raced past his head, inches from certain death, and took a giant leap back to land beside his companion.

Throwing the greatshield onto his back, Morrow drew his crossbow, and the pair began a ranged assault. The warrior unloaded a hail of lightning, while the Lucid One cast bolt after bolt. Andros cried out as they pelted him with missiles, then his five wings spread wide, and he began to levitate. A vertical ring of white light shimmered into existence above his crowned mitre, mesmerizing the duo with its blinding radiance.

Suddenly, shafts of divine energy erupted from its center, showering them in screeching projectiles. They frantically raced to either side, beams of light scattering around them, until the Lucid One was finally struck. Three projectiles seared through his body, and he dropped to the floor, his consciousness fading fast.

Morrow readied his shield against the bombardment, but the light pierced right through its thick steel, impaling his arm and leg. Grimacing against the pain, he drank from his sapphire flask as Andros drifted down, then charged with a battle cry. His sword thrashed madly, hammering the enemy without remorse, while his shield deflected the returning blows. The combatants clashed against one another in a brutal skirmish, both refusing to back down.

Morrow rolled beneath the arcing spear and came up swinging. He battered the angel across his wings, blocked a glancing counterstrike, then dealt a powerful thrust into the shrieking Cardinal's ribs. As Andros doubled over in pain, the warrior swapped to his crossbow and unleashed a volley point-blank, filling his target with crackling bolts.

The Holy Seer raised his spear high, and in a brilliant flash, pillars of lightning streaked from above. All the Lucid One could do was curl up in a ball and pray for safety, while Morrow gamboled fearlessly through the perilous storm. Even as it raged, he attacked the Cardinal, relentlessly bludgeoning him with the flat blade, heedless of his own safety.

When the squall finally subsided, the Lucid One was astonished to find he had not been struck. He struggled to stand, but it was a futile attempt. As close to death as he was, he could do nothing but hang on to his last shred of vitality.

The golden lance swept over the warrior as he tumbled. His sword bashed into the Cardinal's side, then the crystal spearhead gouged through his chest, leaving a charred gash. Mustering his strength, he blocked a powerful thrust and swung again, yet the angel flew nimbly out of reach, then dashed forward and ran him through the stomach.

Morrow writhed on the tip of the lance as he was hoisted into the air, sword and shield falling from his grasp. There was a thundering burst as electricity surged through his body, then Andros flung him across the platform in one deft motion. The warrior crashed into the mound of Richter's empty armor, and lay still.

Andros hovered towards the fallen warrior, spear raised for a final strike. As he drew back the golden lance, Morrow suddenly sprang to his feet, and with a ferocious cry he swung Richter's belled scepter into the Cardinal's chest.

The Holy Seer caved beneath its force. He collapsed to his knees with a surprised gasp, then raised his head as the scepter came down again. It smashed across his veiled face with a resounding knell, crushing the mighty angel against the floor.

Andros lifted a feeble hand to the heavens, and with a dying wail, the Cardinal disintegrated into white ash.

.

* * *

.

Now that the battle was over, the silence that permeated the cathedral seemed deafening. Morrow hunched over, breathing laboriously, but a glimmer of victory shone through his dark eyes. He let the scepter fall to the floor with an echoing clang, then retrieved his sword and shield, sheathing them across his back with an exhausted sigh.

He leaned over the scattered armor that was once Richter and lifted something in his palm. The warrior slid it onto his finger — a steel ring — then dragged his weary feet to the remains of Cardinal Andros.

From the ashes, Morrow retrieved a gilded tome. He inspected it briefly before sliding it beneath his coat. Then, he lifted the majestic cross-spear and held it reverently before him. "At last," he said in a near whisper, "It's mine. The fabled shard... Finally, the Lordbrandt will be restored."

As the Lucid One struggled to rise, the other man glanced at him with a hint of sympathy. "I'm sorry, friend. I wish there was more I could do for you, but my destiny awaits. I'm sure someone as resourceful as yourself will manage. Best of luck to you."

With that, the warrior departed, leaving him alone in the stillness of the cathedral.

.

* * *

.

The Lucid One lay gasping, clinging to life by a mere sliver. It took all his effort just to stand. He carefully slid Lycian's blades into his belt, then dragged himself towards the piles of dust. Falling to his knees, he stared in confusion, wondering what he was supposed to do now. They had defeated the Cardinals, yet Morrow had claimed all the glory. He shut his eyes tight, pushing away feelings of betrayal. Neither of them would have succeeded without the other. He should be grateful that he had survived at all.

As he reopened his eyes, he noticed something shimmering in the black soot beside Lycian's helm. He crawled over and recovered another ring, intricately carved from white gold. After studying it, he placed it in his pocket, then forced himself back to his feet. He stumbled to the pale ashes of Andros, wondering if there was anything else to be found.

Sifting through the dust, he found not a ring, but a splintered piece of bone. Curious, he picked it up, and was surprised to find it warm to the touch. He pocketed this odd treasure as well, then took one final glance around the cathedral.

As he turned to leave, he realized one of the thrones was not empty like the others. Placed on its purple cushioned seat was a human skull. The man limped over and examined it, finding its empty sockets full of crystals like the others he had seen. He wondered why such a thing sat upon a Cardinal's throne, and reached out to touch it.

.

* * *

.

 _Shadows danced about the damp chamber, cast from flickering torchlight. He was kneeling on a cold stone floor. Looking up, he beheld an armored knight towering over him, face concealed behind a barred helm, hands gripping a hilt with no blade._

 _"I do not begrudge you your duty, old friend," he spoke in someone else's voice. "Neither do I ask forgiveness. This was the price He demanded of me, and it is one I will gladly accept."_

 _The knight lowered the bladeless hilt, and an intangible edge tingled against the nape of his neck._

 _"You must realize the truth, though. Don't you see, Neron? He allowed me to take it. All of this is His plan, not mine, not ours. We are merely pawns, after all..."_

 _For a brief moment, the hilt wavered, then rose_ _._

 _"Go on, then." He turned back to the floor, eyes closed. "End these insufferable dreams. It will be a mercy, after all I've seen."_

 _There was a rush of wind, and the world spun out of control._

.

* * *

.

The Lucid One jolted back to the present. He pulled away from the skull, bewildered by the vision it had imparted. Tentatively, he touched it again, but nothing happened. After a moment of puzzlement, he tucked the skull away inside his robes, then returned to the lantern.

Exhausted as he was, sleep would come easy. Slumping to the floor, he closed his eyes and let the comforting dream wash over him.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Grand Inquisitor's Ring** — A white gold ring worn by Cardinal Lycian, the Grand Inquisitor. Allows for additional attunement of spells. After Lycian inherited this ring as a symbol of his divinity, he developed a relentless urge to smite the wicked.

 **Lance** **of** **Divinity** — The legendary spear of Saint Andros, Cardinal of the North, forged from a shard of Sunbrandt. When wielded by one of great faith, it can cast lightning bolts. This is the very spear used to slay the traitorous Watcher, Xyne, though at a great cost to the oracle.

 **Radiant Braille Tome** — A divine tome of the Radiant Legion written in braille. Its pages recount the legendary tales of Heliphon the Illuminator, who vanquished the Demon of Light long ago. Heliphon sacrificed his immortal soul to ensure his legacy, and his devout followers still preach these miracles.

 **Radiant Halo** — A miracle of Cardinal Andros, the Holy Seer. Creates an aureole that fires numerous rays of light. When he was yet a humble man, Andros was granted a vision by the Illuminator, warning him of the coming floods. If not for the pious saint, humanity would have surely perished.

 **Ring of Protection** — A steel ring worn by Cardinal Richter, the "Bastion." Boosts physical defense. Saint Richter possessed a strength beyond any man, which led some to believe he descended from the titans themselves. Such blasphemy, however, was only spoken of in whispers.

 **Saint's Bone Shard** — A fractured bone that belonged to a saint. Bring to the Well Maiden to increase flask potency. The bones of saints are revered as holy relics, and when held, one can feel its miraculous warmth, as if it retained some essence of life.

 **Skull of St. Ogden** — A relic of Saint Ogden, former Cardinal of the East. His skull still resonates with the final memories of betrayal, and a persevering idolatry.


	14. Mirrorlink Shrine, Respite

**14\. Mirrorlink Shrine, Respite**

.

Slowly, the shrine materialized in all its surreal beauty. The luminous white tree reached into the dark sky above, its barren branches grasping at shadows. Before him lay the circular well, its clear waters rippling with the steady beat of the titansmith's hammer. As his eyes drifted to the ring of archstones surrounding them, he noted that one of them was peculiarly intact, magically reformed since his last visit. Within its rune-carved frame was a shimmering image of the Basilica, as if he were viewing it through a clouded window.

The Well Maiden approached, her grey gown rustling over the blades of grass. "Commendations on thy victory, Lucid One," she addressed him. "The first shard of the Lordbrandt hath been recovered, and the first step toward our salvation thus taken. Still, thou must journey on, and retrieve the other shards. To this end, please kneel and claim thy legacy."

He was slightly puzzled, for it had not been he who returned the shard, but knelt nevertheless. The Maiden touched his seal, and in a flash of light, he felt a tenacious fire swell within his breast.

"Thou hath been graced with a great power," the Maiden continued, "the echoes of divinity. The Cardinals were blessed with sacred souls, yet they squandered their gift and succumbed to vice. I beg of thee, do not follow their path. Shelter these transient beings, grant them sanctuary, and take nourishment in thine union."

The man stood and nodded in silent promise. The Maiden's crystal tiara dipped, as if she were inspecting him. "Lucid One, is that a bone shard thou possesseth? Yes, I can feel its warmth. Come, let us pay visit to the titansmith. He shall make use of it, and aid thee on the journey ahead."

They followed the curling path down the mountainside, to where the titan Volk pounded incessantly in his cave. As they came to the barred window, the man could see the spear of Andros lying atop the enormous anvil, in the process of being dismantled.

"Volk," the Maiden called to the molten giant, "Our friend hath discovered a remnant of the saints. Please, grant him thy services."

With a metallic groan, the titan paused his work and turned to the dwarfed figures. _"Hm? Give."_ The man obliged, and held out the fragmented bone, which Volk carefully pinched between his stony fingers. _"Ah. Bone of saint. Good. Make Estus strong."_

The Maiden turned to the Lucid One. "Hand him thine emerald flask, so that he may temper its worth." Again, the man obeyed, and handed his Estus through the bars. "We shall return it to thee before thou awaken. Come, return to the well, and rest thy weary soul."

.

* * *

.

As they reached the peak of the mountain, the man approached the tree, wondering if the snake had any new lessons to impart. Ryn lay coiled as always, its purple tongue flickering as he neared. "Well, look at you," it spoke with a hint of disdain. "An Inquisitor's cane, and their leader's own blades, nonetheless. Take caution, manling. You may yet become one of their forsaken coven."

The Lucid One ignored the serpent's prejudice and pointed to the tattered manuscript. "Of course. You've come seeking knowledge. I am sorry to say these pages are too worn to be of any further use. You will have to find something more intact, I'm afraid."

The man lowered his head in disappointment. "However," Ryn continued, "I have a surprise for you. Look to the branches, there." His eyes followed the pointed tail and beheld a strangely shaped seed hanging from the tree's boughs. Curious, he reached up and plucked the shriveled fruit.

"The seed of the spirit tree," Ryn informed him. "It is a boon against malevolent spirits that would do you harm. It does not grow often, silent one. Be sure you don't waste it frivolously."

The man nodded, and placed the withered seed in his robes. "While you're here," the snake said, "Perhaps you could take back that accursed book?" It glanced to the Inquisitor's tome at the base of the tree. "Its very presence makes me ill. Be rid of it, or give it to that old hag. I care not, as long as it's out of my sight."

He frowned and glanced to the Well Maiden, who certainly did not look like an old hag. A hissing chuckle slid from between the snake's fangs. "No, you fool, not her. The one below the shrine. Have you not met her?" He shook his head, perplexed. "Well, be warned, she is a strange one indeed. She won't tell you anything for free, and even then, her words should not be taken lightly. Visit her, if it fancies you, or don't. It makes little difference to me."

.

* * *

.

The man wandered about the shrine, wondering where this crone was. After a moment of searching, he discovered another path winding down the mountain, opposite the one that led to Volk. He was amazed he had not noticed it before, and began his descent.

He circled around the steep cliffs, following the rocky road. Oddly, he never passed by Volk's window, though he could still hear the smith hammering away inside. Soon enough, he came to a small burrow dug into the mountainside, where a hunchbacked woman sat in a rocking chair, whittling away at a wooden figurine.

As he approached, she raised her hooded head. Her face was concealed by a tightly wrapped shawl, and neck was oddly elongated and serpentine. "Ah, a visitor," she cooed. "Welcome, good sir, welcome! Have you come to hear a tale from old Ethel?"

The man nodded dubiously, feeling uneasy in the crone's presence. She placed her carving down and held out a frail, bony hand. "Every story has its price, you know. What do you have to offer in return?"

He placed the black book in her hand, and she cackled with delight. "Ah, yes! Quite a treasure, indeed. Let us see what Val thinks of it, shall we?"

Before he could wonder who Val was, a guttural croak made him jump. He looked up to find a raven perched on the rocks above, tilting its small head, studying him with a single ebony eye.

"Ah, there's the little scrounger. Come here, Val, tell me what you think of this find." On request, the raven hopped down to an armrest and cocked its head at the tome. The storyteller opened it and tore out a page, which she crumpled into a ball and handed to her bird friend. At once, the raven snatched it in its beak, then took off into the darkness.

"He seems to approve," Ethel mused. "Now, which story should I share with you? The great deluge? The fall of the Demon Lords? The terrible battle between Saint Andros and the traitorous Xyne? Hmm... I know! I'll tell you a tale forgotten to time. Take a seat, good sir, and listen to the tragedy of Dominic and Karine.

"These fearless warriors were once the most famed Inquisitors to ever grace the battlefield. Saint Karine, the silver-haired archer, and her loyal companion Saint Dominic, the watchdog of Nos. Together, they fought back the wretched beasts that crawled from the Bottomless Pit, and later, they stood strong against the Nephel, the unholy spawn of Samaras.

"Despite their bravery, the hordes of the Propagator were neverending, and their army was forced to retreat. The Cardinals could not abide by this, and tasked the two Inquisitors with a daunting mission... to slay Samaras, the mother of abominations, once and for all. With Karine's arrows of poison, and Dominic's indomitable strength, they would infiltrate her island and end her cursed existence, condemning her to a watery grave.

"They set sail at once, traveling far across the seas. Untold time passed as the Cardinals awaited word of their victory, but none came. Some began to fear the worst. Then, at last, Dominic returned... alone.

"The once mighty warrior had been driven mad, beset by the Nephel's influence. In a rage, he challenged the Cardinals, claiming they had condemned them all to a fate worse than death. In response, they sent forth their divine executioner, Neron, the greatest swordsman to ever live. There, before the gates of the basilica, they battled in single combat.

"However mighty Dominic may have been, he could not best the executioner. The legend says the Inquisitor was slain on the spot, a warning to any who would dare defy the Cardinals. Some claim that Neron spared his fellow warrior, and merely banished him from the lands of Nos. And there are others who believe he inflicted the worst punishment of all... he allowed Dominic to live, but wounded him so severely that he would never fight again.

"Regardless of the true ending, Cardinal Lycian forbade the Inquisitors from speaking of it. The inseparable warriors were honored for their services, but their fates would forever be forgotten by all. None can even say what became of poor Saint Karine, who disappeared across the seas, never to be heard of again.

"And so ends the tragic tale of Dominic and Karine."

The Lucid One snapped out of his reverie, drawing a cackle from the old hag. "Had you spellbound, did I?" Ethel clucked as she retrieved her wood figurine. "Do come back soon, and bring me some more trinkets. I would be happy to share another story with you, if the price is right."

As he turned to leave, he finally noticed what she was carving. It was a man with a wolf's head.

.

* * *

.

As he returned to the well, the Maiden stared at him with a reproachful frown. "Lucid One, did'st thou speak to the storyteller?" He nodded hesitantly, causing her to turn away. "Be wary of her tales," she warned. "That one weaveth truth and lie together, until they are but intertwined. She will fill thy head with falsehoods and uncertainty."

She faced him once again, the emerald flask held before her. "Volk hath finished his work. Here, take this as well." He accepted the flask, then received a handful of white powder. "Cast the bone dust into the waters, and it will bolster its potency." The man obeyed, and sprinkled the dust across the rippling well. The powdered bone sparkled as it touched the surface, which he then dipped his sapphire flask into, refilling it with the blessed waters.

As he returned the draught to its resting place, it bumped against the protruding skull, still nestled between his robes. He withdrew it hesitantly, half-expecting to be granted another vision, but the world remained steady. He showed it to the Well Maiden, silently seeking her guidance.

"Ah, another relic of the Cardinals. The skull of poor Saint Ogden, whose only crime was that of sympathy. How fortuitous that thou'st recovered it. Perhaps it would be best to leave it here, for safekeeping. It would only suffer with thee on thine travels, and may yet prove useful." The man conceded her point, and carefully placed the crystal-infused skull atop the well.

"Now, Lucid One," the Maiden spoke gravely, "the next step of thy journey awaits. Thou must seek the isle of Samaras, hidden far across the endless seas. There, the fallen Watcher clingeth to her shard, refusing to relent its power. Gain admittance to her shrine, and wrest the shattered Lordbrandt from her embrace. Take heed, for her kin shall not relinquish their Divine Mother without a fight."

Together, they approached the mended archstone, and with a determined breath, he entered the shimmering haze. "Farewell, Lucid One," the Maiden's voice called after him, sounding a thousand leagues away. "Mayst thou discover thy peace of mind."

.

* * *

.

He awoke to a discomforting chill. The man glanced around in confusion, until he realized he was back at the first lantern in the birch grove. The steep mountain soared above, heavy clouds concealing the Basilica. He stared up into the shifting aurora, recalling his taxing quest to defeat the Cardinals, and the peculiar figures he had met along the way. Eventually, he rose from his resting place and searched for a clue to his next destination.

Between the leafless trees, he spotted a beaten trail leading down the mountainside. He pulled his cloak tighter and began a long march along the steady decline.

The forest grew thicker the further he went, as did the cold mist that swirled about. The gnarled branches hung low, occasionally snagging on his clothes, and strange shapes began to appear in their pale trunks. As he followed the footpath, he came across one of the headless knights, its golden armor coated in a frosty sheen. A tree had grown right through the empty shell, trapping it beneath winding roots.

Eventually, he reached a ruined structure of white stone at the edge of a cliff. Its roof was partly missing, and the floor ended abruptly in crumbling bricks, as if the rest had been torn clean away. He looked around, but the path ended here. There was nowhere else to go.

Beside the broken hall, he found a warped tree, its bleached, petrified bark as hard as bone. Resting within the branches was a strange hollowed knot, like a head without a face. Even stranger, a banner seemed to be growing right out of its trunk, with the twin-serpent standard of Saint Janith woven onto its tattered flag.

Gripping the wooden pole in both hands, he tried pulling it free, but it would not budge. He placed a foot against the tree and tugged harder, until it finally snapped at the base, nearly causing him to slip and fall. After regaining his balance, he approached the collapsed building, banner in hand.

He stepped cautiously to the ledge and peered into the roiling clouds below. The Maiden had told him to cross the seas, but not how. The Lucid One stared about helplessly, his cloak and banner blowing in the harsh winds, feeling utterly lost.

He was about to turn around when a blackened claw suddenly reached up and grasped the cracked floor. The man stepped back in alarm, his banner falling to the floor. One hand jumped instinctively to his weapon's hilt as the fiendish creature dragged itself into view.

The pale thing was vaguely human, but its head was lumpy and wrinkled, as if its brain sat on the outside. It had no eyes, only pointed ears and a long nose, and below that, a row of jagged fangs that dripped saliva. Two fin-like wings fanned from its back, and a serpentine tail wriggled behind it. Both its arms and legs faded into black, as if stricken with frostbite.

As the creature crawled towards him on all fours, another of its kind appeared, then another. The Lucid One tensed, ready for a fight, but before he could react, the three fiends leapt at him in a blur. They clung to his arms and legs, dragging him towards the edge while he struggled in vain.

His feet left the ground. The man could do nothing but pray as the winged horrors carried him off into the clouded skies.

.

* * *

 **Appendix**

.

 **Seed of a Spirit Tree** — A seed grown from a spirit tree. When consumed, it confuses enemies into attacking invading phantoms. Dreams cultivate the seeds of intent, but these forms are transient at best. Even the sense of self may change.


	15. Ivory Forest

**15\. Ivory Forest**

.

The wind howled in his ears as they soared through the obscuring clouds. He was utterly terrified in the clutches of these demonic creatures, completely at their mercy. He expected to be dropped at any moment, sent plummeting into the haze below, but the winged fiends clung tight as they glided towards some unknown destination. The man wondered if they were carrying him back to their nest, perhaps to feast upon at their discretion.

As his mind raced with fearful possibilities, the clouds parted unexpectedly, and he was greeted to a magnificent sight. Below them was a vast ocean of surging waves, each foaming crest spraying hundreds of feet into the sky. In the far distance was an island surrounded by steep crags, as well as a graveyard of splintered ships, their broken masts and torn sails snapped and pierced upon the jagged rocks, serving as a warning to anyone foolish enough to try and make berth. The man was ironically relieved to have a less conventional means of travel, however grotesque the creatures may seem.

His abductors carried him over the raging sea towards the island, and once they were above dry land, promptly released him. He fell with a thud onto the frozen soil, while the fiends chattered overhead as if mocking him. Before he could even stand, they were gone, flittering away into the vibrant aurora.

Brushing off his cloak, the Lucid One surveyed his new surroundings. Before him was a barren forest of white trees, with sparse patches of grass poking through the rime. Snowflakes fell gently to the ground, and a frosty haze swirled between the ivory trunks, its wispy tentacles tickling at his face. He had little doubt that this was the isle he sought — the isle of Samaras, the Propagator.

As his gaze drifted through the endless woods, he caught sight of something strangely familiar. He started towards it in disbelief, recalling their vicious battle on the parapets of the basilica. It was the blue drake, lying dead at the cliff's edge.

Although there was no mistaking its cyclopean eye and frilled jaws, the behemoth was undergoing some bizarre transformation. An enormous alabaster tree had sprung up around the ballista bolts lodged in its wing, surrounded by smaller saplings. Their roots had overtaken the great beast, casting a sinewy net across its corpse, and some of them seemed to be sprouting from its very scales. There were even branches creeping between its rows of fangs.

As he examined the strange phenomenon, the Lucid One realized that the trees were feeding off the dragon's silver blood, which pooled about its body and gaping maw. It appeared to be a prolonged, natural process, and he suddenly found himself wondering just how much time had passed since he awoke. It seemed only recently that he had been lost and frightened in those labyrinthine halls of the sleeping dead, but judging by this growth, it had been much, much longer than he could have imagined.

Pushing aside the disconcerting notion, he turned from the fallen drake and headed off into the woods, keeping a sharp eye out for whatever awaited him in the mist.

.

* * *

.

At first, he thought his ears were playing tricks on him. He paused and listened as a melodious song floated on the wind, trying to discern where it was coming from. He followed the dulcet voice until he was sure it was real, and soon, he found himself at a clear, still pond surrounded by blossoming blue flowers.

A woman knelt beside the water's bank. It was she who hummed the haunting tune, eyes closed as if in prayer. She was stunningly beautiful, with porcelain skin and short chestnut hair, wreathed in the same pale-blue flowers that grew along the shore. Her simple cloth gown seemed like clerical attire, and a long wool cloak draped around her shoulders.

Absorbed in her song, he took another step, and a snapping twig drew her attention. The melody faded as she turned, calmly surveying the man with verdant green eyes. "Oh, hello there," she greeted him. "Are you lost? Please, rest your feet if you'd like. It's no bother to me, really."

Surprised by her geniality, he obliged and sat beside the woman. She smiled softly as she looked back to the pond. "I often find myself coming here to clear my head. It's remarkable, wouldn't you agree? One of the last places left untainted by that dreadful poison."

He concurred; this was perhaps the most peaceful land he had beheld since his awakening. The placid waters and light snowfall seemed otherworldly in their serenity. Not a single breath of wind was present to interrupt the tranquil scene. Everything from the turquoise petals of the flowers to the crystal surface of the pond remained as still as a painting.

The woman cast a curious glance his way. "You don't speak much, do you? It's quite alright. I can already guess what brought you here, anyways. You've come to visit our Divine Mother, haven't you?" She chuckled at his look of astonishment. "You wouldn't be the first, and you shan't be the last. Men from all over have tried to reach this isle, seeking her blessing. Only a few have actually found it. You are one of the fortunate ones, make no mistake.

"I can help you gain an audience with her. I am Sister Celia, a servant of the Divine Mother. It is my duty to welcome newcomers to her lands, and guide them into her loving embrace. In order to be admitted to her congregation, you must make an offering to the leader of our covenant, Saint Davni. Take this, it will aid you on your journey."

She produced a crimson crystal from her gown and handed it to him. It was almost identical to the one Morrow had given him, save for its darker hue. "Use that shard to seek an offering. You will know what to do when the time comes. It won't be easy, but I have faith in you, traveler."

He tucked the crystal away in his robes, then stood and bowed to the helpful maiden. As much as he wanted to stay in this wondrous moment, he had his mission to fulfill. Sister Celia smiled again in understanding. "Before you leave," she continued, "I would suggest taking some of these flowers with you. They will help stave off the cold that permeates this land. Blessings upon your journey, traveler. Stay safe."

.

* * *

.

With his pockets full of blue petals, he trekked on through the woods. Not another living soul was in sight, though the chilling mist did hinder his vision. The Lucid One wandered aimlessly, wishing that the Sister had given him some direction, and thought about turning back. However, he no longer recalled which way he came from, so he pressed onward blindly.

The pale trees had begun to take hideous forms. Their trunks were twisted and bent, with gnarled branches reaching for the dark sky as if begging forgiveness. Vines tumbled from their tops like tangled hair, and some had flowers poking through the stringy mess. The man stared at one as he passed, catching sight of a knotted hollow buried beneath the swaying tendrils.

He froze in his tracks as he remembered there was no wind, yet tree was moving.

Before he could act, the branches swiped down, catching him in their clutches. He struggled frantically as he was scooped off his feet and lifted to the tree's concave face, which echoed with a mournful cry. Suddenly, it spewed a frigid fog over him, numbing him to the bone.

The Lucid One stopped writhing as his blood turned to ice. All he could do was clench his eyes shut before they were blinded by cold. The frosty cloud washed over him, collecting on his exposed skin, then he was abruptly dropped to the ground. His eyelids snapped open again, and he desperately willed his body to move. He reached out a trembling hand as the tree-creature wailed, dragging himself inch by inch. Branches scraped against his boots, trying to pull him back, but he kicked himself free and continued to worm through the dirt.

A second tree moaned as another wave of frost billowed over him. He could no longer feel his arms and legs, stricken with frostbite, and curled into a pathetic ball. He tried to retrieve the blue blossoms from his pockets, though his fingers would not respond. All he could manage was to spill them across the ground, but it was enough. The man rolled face-first in the frozen soil and chewed the flowers eagerly.

As their nectar dripped down his throat, he felt his body slowly equalizing its temperature. The blood was pumping again, giving him enough sensation to crawl on all fours. He scampered away from the weeping birches until he reached a short stone wall, and pressed his back to the crumbling ruin. He quickly drank from his Estus, grateful for its warming vigor.

"Halt, trespasser!"

He nearly dropped his flask at the snarling voice. He looked up and was terrified to find a giant feline glaring down at him. It sat nestled in the wall's window, lips curled back to bare rows of razor-sharp fangs. It was covered in silver-gray fur, and its hairless tail flicked beside it, oddly scaled and serpentine. Two gleaming yellow eyes appraised him hungrily as if he were a meal.

"Do not move, human, or I will rend the flesh from your bones," she warned, stretching her long claws to bolster the threat. "These woods are my domain. You have no business being here. You would do well to leave at once, if you know what's good for you."

The Lucid One knew he should take the offer, but was quite reluctant to turn his back on the great predator. He stepped away slowly, keeping one hand on the hilt of his golden sword.

The cat's eyes fell upon the matching weapons, and her sneer softened into disbelief. "Wait. Are those... Lycian's own blades? How did you come to acquire those, human?"

He was not sure how to answer, so he stood his ground silently. The feline continued to study him, though it no longer appeared ready to pounce. The man noticed that besides its fur, there were tufts of white feathers bunched around its shoulder blades. "You... you defeated him, did you not?" she continued. "You faced the Cardinals and lived to tell of it?" At this, he nodded stiffly, and to his surprise the cat chuckled.

"Yes, I see now. You've got some backbone to you, human! You are a strange one indeed, but nevertheless brave. Tell me, what brings you to this land? Don't tell me you're following those fools into the arms of the Propagator."

He nodded again, and this time, the cat's chuckle was full of ridicule. "You'll find naught but death if you go to her. Her kindred will take what they need of you and discard the rest, mark mine words. 'Tis a fool's errand to seek her out." Her whiskered lips curled into a wicked grin. "But I have a better offer for you. Join me, Eveline the Direcat, and my coven of hunters. We protect these lands from those who would defile its beauty, and send them back to their maker. You'd be free to do as you please, but when I summon you, you must answer my call and fight. What say you, human? Will you join us? I believe we would suit you well."

She held out a small ring hanging from one of her claws, with a black pearl set in its flowery emblem. The man glanced at the offering, then waved a hand in silent decline. The feline's grin faded, and she visibly bristled in outrage.

"You fool!" she spat in contempt. "You will fight either way, only now without my protection. Begone from my sight, and may the forest take your soul."

With that, the direcat abruptly vanished into thin air, leaving him wondering if he had chosen wrong. Regardless, there was no turning back. He ventured on into the ivory woods, eyeing every tree reproachfully.

.

* * *

.

A decimated company of golden knights lay before him, though their lustrous armor had long since lost their sheen. They became more numerous the further he traveled, which the Lucid One hoped was a sign that he was heading in the right direction. Most of the empty suits had saplings sprouting from their ice-caked shells, while others were partly buried in the ground, frozen hands outstretched in a futile attempt to escape their fate. Dozens of saltire-tipped staves stuck in the dirt and trees, practically becoming one with the forest.

Ahead of him was another pond, its waters darkened by what could only be poison, with headless knights and dead Inquisitors littering its banks. At the center was one of the petrified creatures, its stone tentacles wrapped around the staves and spears thrusting from the mire. Something else glistened from its limbs, and the Lucid One squinted to find a small silver bell hanging low. He could not believe his luck. He desperately needed a chime after his previous one had been destroyed, and here was one just ripe for the taking.

As he stepped over the scattered corpses, something moved amongst the trees. The Lucid One quickly ducked behind one of the fallen soldiers as dark shapes appeared from the mist. They were undoubtedly phantoms, but unlike any he had seen before, each a deep shade of blue with black smoke rising from their shadowy forms. It was not the cerulean color of the Sentinels, nor the bloody crimson of an adversary. These were something else entirely.

As he watched the murky spirits prowling through the woods, he suddenly realized what they were, and an unnerving dread crept over him.

He was being hunted.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Cat Covenant Ring** — A ring gifted to those who enter into a covenant with Eveline the Direcat. Answer her summons to defend the Ivory Forest. There are some who worship the Direcat as a goddess, but even she scoffs at such a vain title.

 **Cold Blossom** — A rare flower used to counteract frostbite. This plant can only be found near bodies of chilled water, but grows abundant in the Ivory Forest. Despite their value, few dare to brave these haunted woods.

 **Frost Cloud** — A sorcery of the Nephel. Creates a chilling mist that causes frostbite. Though the armies of Heliphon soundly defeated the Nephel, they were ultimately driven back by the merciless cold.

 **Red Soapstone Shard** — A relic of ancient times. When broken, it curses its holder with bloodlust. These shards closely resemble the red eye orbs of myth, and are said to be tainted by the essence of sin, which resides in the heart of every mortal.


	16. Phantoms

**16\. Phantoms**

.

The Lucid One kept low as he surveyed the stalking hunters. The odds were against him, and though he had faced impossible battles before, their array of weaponry was nevertheless intimidating. One carried a shortbow of sinewy white wood, another held a gnarled staff and whip, and the last wielded what looked like an uprooted tree trunk, whittled down at one end into a thick handle. All three were dressed in little more than leather scraps and rags, a motley crew of savage warriors.

There was a good chance he could avoid confrontation in these thick mists, especially with his distracting spells. He promptly cast Lightfoot behind cover, then shot an Aural Decoy into the woods. The strange croaking noise echoed far, and soon enough, the hunters rushed by in pursuit, barely making a sound as they sped across the snowy terrain. He waited until they had passed, then prepared to run.

He suddenly noticed there were only two; the archer was nowhere to be seen. At that moment, an arrow embedded deep into his shoulder, and he spun in surprise as another whistled past his head. He dove aside as two more sunk into the dirt, fired with skillful haste.

He did not bother to check behind him. Instead, he made a mad dash towards the bowman, hoping to deny him of his ranged advantage. The Lucid One ducked beneath another arrow as he drew his golden sword, slashing with the same motion. However, the archer tumbled over the flashing blade and came up firing, piercing the man between his ribs. At the same time, an icy projectile burst across his back, causing him to stumble.

The others had spotted him.

As the sorcerer prepared another spell, his brutish companion charged in. He took a mighty leap and slammed the trunk down, missing his target by a hair. The Lucid One counterattacked instantly, though the sword bounced harmlessly off the club as a second frost bolt struck him in the shoulder, numbing his entire arm. Yet another arrow found its mark, but the man was forced to focus on the savage warrior, lest he be crushed by his oversized cudgel. He rolled back as it swung in a rising arc, and narrowly avoided a pair of projectiles as well. He panted as they kept him on the defensive, knowing that he could not last at this rate. His only hope was to slow the brute long enough to pick off one of his comrades.

His eyes snapped back to the statuesque Nephel at the center of the lake. Regardless of the poisoned waters, he needed that chime trapped in its stony grasp. He needed to cast his miracle. The Lucid One waited until the club was in mid-strike, then sprinted out of the way and into the mire, praying that his purple-stoned ring was enough to protect him.

The lake was deeper than he realized, and the toxic sludge hindered his movements. He waded frantically as the warrior gave chase, while the others fired from the shoreline. The archer fully nocked his bow, imbuing the arrow with frost, and hit his target square in the spine. Despite the man's grievous injuries, he pushed forward until he reached the islet, then lunged for the petrified creature.

He gripped the silver bell with both hands and pulled. The stone crumbled as it broke free, but before he could act, the club crashed into his chest and sent him sprawling through the muck. On the brink of death, the Lucid One ignored the stinging poison and desperately rang the chime. It responded with a loud, crisp peal that penetrated the chill air, echoing far across the ivory forest.

Nothing happened.

He stared in horror at the bell, but had no time to collect himself as the warrior brought the trunk down again. He barely avoided the deadly blow, rolling through the cesspool and swallowing a dangerous amount of poison. He gasped for breath as he clawed his way to the bank, trying to find time to heal, yet the sorcerer was waiting for him. He could only watch hopelessly as the gnarled staff shone blue, sealing his fate.

Just then, a round object flew through the air and collided with the hunter in a fiery explosion, interrupting his spell at the last second. The mage turned in alarm as a white phantom raced through the trees, sword and shield in hand. At first, the Lucid One thought it was Serise, though a feathered cap and oddly-shaped blade proved otherwise. The spirit rushed the enemy with a spinning slash, but the nimble caster leapt out of range, barely avoiding the undulating steel.

A sloshing noise made the Lucid One roll instinctively, right before the club slammed into the dirt where had been laying. He scrambled to his feet as the savage gave chase, but the pale phantom intercepted the warrior and cut deep into his side. The distraction gave the man a chance to drink his blessed water, even as two arrows flew into his arm, causing him to nearly drop the flask. He whirled on the archer in frustration and fired a sound bolt from his Inquisitor's cane, catching the marksman in mid-shot. The invisible spell knocked the arrow aside and rippled through the hunter's chest, making him double over in agony.

With the others occupied, the Lucid One was determined to down at least one of the phantoms. He drew both swords and dashed at the bowman, who was already loosing another arrow. To both their surprise, the man reflexively hacked the missile out of the air and bore down on his opponent, twin blades streaking in a vicious cyclone. They left two gouges in the archer's chest before he rolled away, then caught him in the shoulder with a lunging thrust. The hunter ignored his wounds and continued to fire, forcing the man to bob through the hail of arrows.

As the enemy smartly retreated to gain distance, a small detail caught the Lucid One's eye. Just behind his adversary, the vines of an ivory tree swayed gently, practically unnoticeable in the chaotic battle. Suddenly, the white serpent's words resurfaced, reminding him of the invaluable item in his arsenal.

 _"The seed of a spirit tree... a boon against malevolent spirits that would do you harm."_

Still weaving between the projectiles, he retrieved the shriveled seed from his pocket and crushed it in his palm, releasing a cloud of spores into the frigid air. The archer drew strongly on his bowstring, coating an arrow in frost, but a pair of gnarled branches snatched him up before he could release it. He struggled in surprise as he was lifted off his feet, then the tree-woman exhaled her icy breath. The hunter was bathed in a cold haze until he stopped squirming.

She let his limp body fall to the ground. He was barely able to stand, frostbite numbing him to the bone. He raised his head defiantly, right before the Lucid One lopped it from his shoulders with a single stroke. The dark phantom slumped to the dirt and disappeared a cloud of smoke.

The man stepped away from the moaning tree, then turned his attention to the others. The white phantom was holding his own against the pair of hunters. The Lucid One marveled as the stranger leapt back from the heavy club, then swatted a spell aside effortlessly with his shield, sending it spiraling into the woods. He advanced towards the sorcerer, but the whip lashed out violently, its leather scales shredding through clothes and skin. At the same time, the savage battered him clear off his feet.

The Lucid One scraped his swords together, summoning their cold, venomous flames, then rushed to defend his fallen ally. As the barbarian hoisted the trunk above his head, the burning gold blade slid into his back, and a kick pushed him face-down in the snow. The mage began casting again, but the pale phantom flung another firebomb directly at his face. The sorcerer tumbled away in surprise, scorched and seething with outrage. He raised his staff once more, not realizing he had rolled right into the arms of a tree-woman.

As the hapless hunter was engulfed in a chilling cloud, the Lucid One and his comrade squared off against the warrior. They took turns cutting and jabbing, slowly wearing him down while avoiding the flailing club. Eventually, the Lucid One crept too close and took a dire blow to the side of the head. He toppled over, vision reeling, warm blood seeping from his fractured skull. His eyes refocused in time to see the sorcerer hold his staff high, launching a frost arrow at the stranger's back.

He tried to shout in warning, but of course, he could only point and gape. Fortunately, the swordsman noticed his alarmed expression, and twirled aside as the projectile streaked by. He lobbed a firebomb at the savage, throwing him off-guard, then charged the other hunter. The white phantom readied his shield and barreled straight through a second spell, never slowing his pace. His sword curled back, preparing to strike, and the mage frantically rolled away. However, the thrust was delayed, and instead shot out right as the sorcerer came to his feet. His eyes went wide as steel plunged through his gut. The stranger followed with an upward stroke, slicing him from navel to neck.

The dark spirit dropped to his knees, clutching at his spilt insides, and the wavy blade came down again to cleave his head in two. The hunter instantly burst into vapor, sifting off through the glistening trees.

At this, the barbarian released a warcry and rampaged towards the swordsman. The Lucid One was on his feet again, having healed himself with another swig, but he was too late. The club thrashed wildly, moving much too fast for its bulk, and the pale phantom was pummeled from both sides. Before he could reorient himself, the trunk came crashing down, flattening him into the frozen earth.

As the vanquished stranger dissipated, merging with the surrounding mists, the brute turned his gaze back to the Lucid One. They were alone now, but he would not underestimate his opponent. He raised his curved blades, still flickering with blue flame, then the savage roared again and charged.

Just before the club connected, he leapt aside and slashed once, twice through the enemy's torso. It was not enough, and the berserk hunter sent him flying with a rising swing. He clambered to his feet in time to avoid another attack, jabbing once before retreating. The warrior was relentless, unfazed by his countless wounds, and only his pronounced attacks kept the Lucid One from being obliterated. The man struck back between blows, dealing shallow lacerations, none of which seemed to slow the crazed brawler.

His breath came out in short puffs; he was tiring fast. The club swung too quickly, and this time, he had no energy left to evade. He barred his swords before him in terror, but the trunk plowed through his pitiful defense. It slammed into his stomach as the silver blade spun from his grasp, landing point-down in the snow and extinguishing its magic. The Lucid One collapsed, his insides ruptured. He pushed himself away with his feet, sliding through the slushy rime like a worm. The warrior approached him without mercy, preparing to deal the final blow.

The man rolled over and released a sound bolt from his cane. The air quivered as it shot through the savage's bare chest, leaving no mark, but stunning him in his tracks. His fierce eyes went wide in shock, and the Lucid One dove desperately for his lost sword. As his hand closed around the hilt, he immediately slid the blades together and spun around in a whirlwind of shadowy flame.

To his utter disbelief, the warrior backhanded the burning weapons with a closed fist. His attack faltered, then the club crashed into his chest, shattering his entire ribcage. He gasped for air as he crumpled, unable to move.

The savage lifted his club high, holding it aloft as if taunting his victim. It hung there, poised against the prismatic clouds, then it wavered unexpectedly. The tenacious gleam vanished from the dark spirit's eyes, and his taut muscles went slack. At last, the trunk toppled from his grip as he faded away, still standing on his feet. The Lucid One stared incredulously until he realized what had happened.

The toxins had finally taken their toll.

.

* * *

.

He lay there in the cold, pain wracking every inch of his body. Even drinking from the sapphire flask was an arduous effort. He closed his eyes gratefully as the soothing waters alleviated his anguish, then drew from his Estus, granting him the energy needed to rise again. He was impressed to find that both flasks had retained some of their contents, their efficiency bolstered by the bone dust of the Cardinals. He would surely need it for the battles yet to come.

The man resumed his journey with caution, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. The mist played tricks on his mind, and more than once he swore that some ghostly apparition drifted through the woods. However, they would always disappear before he could be certain. Even the trees remained motionless, allowing him to pass by unscathed.

His heart leapt when he recognized the mellow glow of a lantern ahead. It sat atop a steep mound, and as he approached, he realized it was littered with the frozen corpses of angelic servants. As before, golden knights and dark-robed Inquisitors lay strewn across each other, their limbs and armaments protruding from a heavy blanket of snow. He stepped over them carefully as he climbed the hill, making his way to the lamplight above.

When he reached the crest, he found a single body laying at his feet. It wore a Sentinel's uniform, though the head was nowhere to be seen. Oddly, it was positioned perpendicular to the lantern, its stump of a neck nearly touching the post. The Lucid One found its placement too deliberate, almost ritualistic, though to what purpose he could not say. Rather than dwell on the mystery, he let it be, and settled down to rest his weary mind.

As he waited for sleep to take him, he recalled the strange chime he had pulled from the statue. He took it out to study, wondering why it had not cast the miracle as it should. There were engravings in the silver bell, maidens and squires dancing hand in hand, and slowly he understood its true purpose. This was not a chime for miracles, but a means of summoning aid. It had called that pale phantom to his side without the need for soapstone shards. He cupped it reverently in his hands, realizing just how powerful such a tool could be.

Something moved beside him, and he nearly fell down the hill in startlement. He reached for his weapons, but then paused in awe and relief. Seated by the lantern was none other than Morrow, with his unmistakable tricornered hat and leather coat. He stared into the shimmering glass panes as if entranced, paying no mind to the man beside him. The Lucid One smiled as he tried to get his friend's attention, but his gestures went unanswered. As his smile shifted into a frown, the warrior became transparent, then vanished completely from sight.

He stared despondently at the vacant spot, feeling as if the cold had grown more bitter. He had thought these woods to be peaceful, beautiful even, but their haunting mysteries disturbed him. He prayed that sleep would come quick so he could be rid of these illusory visions.

.

* * *

.

As his eyelids grew heavier, and his body slumped, something kept prodding him in the side. At first, he thought it might be a wound from the previous battle, but they had all been healed. It finally became too much of a nuisance, so he ruffled around in his robes to find the source of his discomfort.

He withdrew a sharp object. It was the red crystal, the one Sister Celia had given him, and he held it up curiously to the lantern. The rigid gemstone looked like a miniature crimson sun, with pointed ends jutting in all directions. It was flawed, badly chipped, causing the lamplight to dance discordantly through its uneven facets. They formed hypnotic patterns that played across his eyes, and the Lucid One found himself wholly forgetting about the solace of the dream.

His fingers closed around the crystal; his fist seemed to tighten of its own accord. There was was fragile crack, then darkness devoured him.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Bell of Consonance** — A white gold bell blessed by Saint Davni. When rung, it calls upon aid across realms, and may be answered by a pale phantom. Saint Davni was the first of the Nephel, and discerned the harmony that binds all souls. Unfortunately, she was also the first to fall against the hordes of Heliphon.

 **Ebbing** — The fabled greatsword of Captain Brenlyn. Depletes a target's stamina with each strike. Its blade has a unique shape, flat on one side and wavy on the other, representing his mastery over land and sea. Captain Brenlyn set sail for distant lands, seeking the gift of eternal life, but only tales of his adventures survived.

 **Firebomb** — Bisque urn filled with black powder. Explodes on impact, inflicting fire damage. This invention was made popular by the mercenaries of Carthania, though it quickly fell out of favor as the faith of Nos spread to their kingdom.

 **Frost Arrow** — An elementary sorcery of the Nephel. Fires an icy arrow that shatters on impact. Frost sorcery was born with the advent of the Nephel, the unholy spawn of Samaras. These frozen souls are granted piercing qualities through crystallization.

 **Sacred Bloom Shield** — An antiquated shield depicting a blooming flower, a sacred symbol in the lands of Carthania. Boasts high magic defense, and is able to parry spells. Carthanians often found themselves at odds with the scholars of Falmour, and this shield granted them the upper hand in times of strife.

 **Spotted Whip** — A whip fashioned from the tail of a Maneater Sphinx. Its dark scales are mottled with venomous spots, inflicting poison. The Sphinxes embody the memory of maidens lost in battle, and still envy those who inhabit flesh.

 **Trunk Club** — An uprooted trunk used as a greatclub. Requires immense strength to wield. Stalwart Griswold was the loyal first mate of Captain Brenlyn, to whom he pledged his life. Only in death did he find a new master to serve.

 **White Birch Bow** — A shortbow crafted from an ivory tree. Use the strong pull to fire arrows of frozen souls. The huntsman of Eveline the Direcat hail from many lands, but stand united by a common desire for vengeance.

 **Witchtree Branch** — A staff formed by the gnarled branch of an ivory tree. Functions as a catalyst, but has greater resonance with frost sorceries. Despite their appearance, the barren boughs of the Ivory Forest retain an abundance of life, attesting to the Propagator's bountiful gift.


	17. Intruder

**17\. Intruder**

.

He tore across the ice-glazed forest like a frenzied beast. His heart pounded in his ears, a deafening war drum that spurred him onward, even as his muscles burned with exertion. He gave no thought to rest, to gather his senses or bearing. He was driven by a primal need, an insatiable lust for blood. Something within these woods was calling to him.

His prey.

The world seemed to constrict before him, converging into a shaded tunnel that guided him towards the inevitable. He passed by countless tree-women who paid him no mind, and he gave them none in turn. He did not even wonder at the flashes of crimson in his periphery — his own body, undergone some macabre transformation, alight with blistering rage. Only the urge to kill dominated his thoughts, and so he ran.

.

* * *

.

In the midst of a small clearing divided by a writhing, poison-tainted stream, he spotted his quarry. He barely registered the robed figure's familiarity, blinded as he was by murderous fervor. The madman slunk from the undergrowth with both swords drawn, making no effort to mask his approach. The Sentinel turned and glared at him, ice-blue eyes reflecting a simmering rage beneath his bronze faceplate.

"You," Brother Edson seethed, all trace of geniality banished from his tone. "You deceived me. I thought you a pilgrim, but no... No, you are naught but an assassin! You were supposed to join the others in holy unison, and you killed them. You slew the Cardinals, you ungrateful wretch!"

His copper-coated wheel sprang open, whirling and crackling with electric fury. "I swear by my duty as a Sentinel, I will avenge my masters!" With that, he charged, and the adversary rushed to meet him head-on.

They collided with a literal bang. The dark spirit ran straight into the revolving wheel, foolishly throwing caution to the wind, and the force of the blow sent him sprawling. As quickly as he had fallen, however, he was back on his feet. The twin blades scraped together with a metallic shriek, enshrouding their contorted edges in deep-blue flames. Edson eyed the Darklight guardedly, aware of its danger, but did not back down. The wheel snapped together, and they clashed again.

The spirit slid beneath the heaving contraption, slicing his opponent's leg as he passed. He struck twice more, gouging through grey robes, then took a heavy blow to the side. He staggered as Brother Edson swung again, and rolled back to avoid the crushing weapon. The Sentinel chased him relentlessly, slamming the wheel down with both arms, spraying up snow with each crash. Despite his immense strength, however, the wheel was cumbersome, its attacks predictable. The red phantom slipped between them and lashed out nimbly, letting the poison build with every cut.

Edson hastily drew his gold chime. There was a ringing as electricity burst from his raised fist, and he hurled a bolt of lightning at the enemy. The spirit was caught off-guard, but dove aside at the last instant. The lance screeched past and connected with a solitary tree-woman, who wailed as her trunk exploded into splinters. The shade rushed forward as a second bolt crackled into existence. Edson curled his arm back, and the spirit nimbly rolled towards him.

To his surprise, the Sentinel did not throw the radiant spear, but slammed it straight down at his feet. The phantom tumbled directly into the static discharge, and was caught with the full force of the deadly miracle. He stumbled back, clothes and skin smoldering, struggling to regain his composure.

As he retreated, Edson reached into his pocket and shoved a clump of purple moss beneath his helm. The dark spirit was enraged; he had not expected his opponent to be so prepared. He quickly switched out his sword for the catalyst, but Edson dropped to one knee, chime singing. A circle of light surrounded him, curing his injuries, even while the phantom launched a sonic blast from his cane.

As soon as the miracle was complete, the Sentinel braced his wheel against a leather-bound shoulder, absorbing most of the invisible projectile. He leapt to his feet and charged, keeping himself shielded behind the broad disc. He barreled straight through a second sound bolt, then thrust the wheel forward as it snapped open and spun with sparking ferocity. It missed the crimson shade by a finger's width, but instantly came down again, smashing into the earth between his feet. The spirit scrambled away as the wheel bore down mercilessly, intent on crushing him beneath its girth.

"Blasphemer!" Edson roared as he hammered away. "Heretic! How dare you taint our sacred lands with your lies and deceit!" He slammed the wheel with each condemnation, causing the earth to shiver under its weight. "Who are you to question our faith? The Cardinals sacrificed everything for insolent heathens like you! _Everything!_ And this is how you repay their kindness!?"

The phantom rolled to his feet, but the wheel swung upward, catching him with its copper-plated rim. His jawbone shattered as he toppled over, teeth scattering across the snow. The world spiraled out of control, treetops and chromatic clouds whirling together in a dizzying dance. He urged his body to rise, to keep fighting, but it would not respond. He could barely make out the Sentinel towering over him, and the dark shape that approached from behind.

"You took everything from me," Edson continued to rave. "All my devotion, for nothing. Now I will take everything from you." He hoisted the wheel high above his head. "May you rot in the Bottomless Pit, you—"

Without warning, a crimson blade burst through his sternum. The Sentinel's blue eyes went wide in shock as the wheel toppled from his grasp. He touched the blade tentatively with shaking fingers, as if to confirm it was truly there, then the sword retreated with a sharp tug. The warrior collapsed onto his back, blood blossoming through his robes.

Another red spirit stood over him, glaring down murderously at their victim. They let their blade fall with finality through the man's throat. Edson gave a pathetic gurgle, then went still, and the killer turned their malevolent gaze to the other phantom.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of his maddened mind, he vaguely recalled this figure — the pointed hat, the split-tailed coat, the spiked shield, and the wide, black-bladed greatsword. Between tightly wrapped bandanas, her sunken eyes stared back without a hint of recognition. She pulled the sword free with a spurt of blood, and the fallen madman waited for her to finish him off as well.

Instead, the phantom sheathed her blade, then knelt beside the Sentinel's corpse. She unceremoniously shoved her fingers deep into his skull, and with a wet pop, tore out one of his eyes, stalk and all. She held it gently in a gloved hand, inspecting it carefully, then turned without a second glance and disappeared into the mist.

As he lay there, vision still reeling, the entire world seemed to quiver, as if someone had struck a silent gong right next to his head. He realized that everything was not just spinning, but also fading away into nothingness. A panic gripped his heart; he had come here for a purpose, one that was not yet fulfilled. He needed to kill, but that was only a means to an end. He desperately needed something, and he was not even sure what that something was.

No. He knew exactly what he needed. As the world wavered, and darkness seeped from the corners of his sight, he clawed frantically at the dead man's face.

.

* * *

.

The Lucid One bolted upright, gasping for breath, shivering in the cold. He felt as if he had been drowning, and only now resurfaced for air. He blinked rapidly as those vivd, terrible visions slithered back to the void from whence they crawled, and the light of the lantern welcomed him once more. The floating shimmer within its glass panes was like an anchor, reassuring him that this was the real world. The snow still drifted lazily from the vibrant sky; the inert, frigid bodies of the dead still swarmed about the mound. Nothing here had changed, but what of that other place? What of the other _him?_

No — that could not have been him. He had been granted no agency, no choice, no way to influence his actions during that phantasmal experience. It was like watching through another's eyes, a voiceless passenger, except that he had felt everything that 'other' felt. Even now, he could still recall the overwhelming desire to kill, and it was sickening. He may have despised Brother Edson for what he did to Serise, and he had no qualms over the Sentinel's untimely death. That was not what disturbed him. He had taken many lives, but never with such sadistic delight.

There was only one way to be sure. He hastily reached into his robes, and to his relief, found both of his flasks were refilled, proof that he must have fallen asleep. So what if he could not remember returning to the shrine? It would not be the first time his memory failed him. His recollection was as hazy as the fog that blanketed the land, his sense of time obscured by these transient shifts between realms. At least he could believe that those actions were not of his doing, but rather a manifestation of something beyond mortal understanding.

Then, he felt the pulpous object in his other hand. Hesitantly, he uncurled his fingers, forcing himself to look upon what he already knew would be there.

In his bloodstained palm, an ice-blue eye stared back without expression.

He shivered violently, and this time, it was not from the cold.

.

* * *

.

The man wandered through the forest in a daze, no longer certain of his course. Everything looked the same, an endless mirror of itself. The ivory trees stretched on forever into the roiling mist; the ground heaved over countless corpses like a frozen sea of death. Frayed war-banners and saltire-tipped poles protruded from the dirt, serving as grave markers, or perhaps a warning. No matter which direction he chose, it was all the same.

This whitewashed monotony made the sudden appearance of a cobblestone path a welcomed surprise. The Lucid One was startled when his boot struck the flat rock, its sharp tap sounding alien after the constant crunching of dirt and snow. As he followed the road, a massive structure loomed from the fog. It was an archway, intricately detailed, seemingly carved from a single block of stone. A mesh of vines swathed its segmented columns, ribbed interior, and sculptures of dancing figures. Maidens and squires paraded around woodland critters, their bare limbs entangled in unnatural positions, faces frozen in a state of eternal jubilation.

At the apex of the arch was a wheel with seven spokes. It was badly cracked and damaged, with only two of the rods unblemished. The engravings were hard to see through the mist, but he could make out faint images of winged females and flowers intertwining along the rim. In the central hub, a woman appeared to be emerging beside a wave, with her hair becoming its foamy crest in turn.

It was hauntingly beautiful, yet unnerving. The four-spoked wheel was the holy symbol of Nos, and this was undoubtedly some bastardization of it, a mockery of His omnipotence. Even so, it gave the Lucid One some small comfort to know he must be nearing his goal — the Shrine of Samaras.

Sure enough, as he stepped beyond the threshold into a crumbling courtyard, the fog parted to reveal a monumental temple. Dozens of rounded spires soared into the darkened sky, each one comprised of smaller clusters, culminating into a single pinnacle that pierced the clouds above. A plethora of carvings decorated each and every surface, too many to even comprehend. Just like the archway, the entire structure blended seamlessly together, an inconceivable achievement of architecture.

The entrance was a square vestibule, its domed roof supported by squat, sturdy pillars, with an expansive staircase flanked by twin statues of some chimeric creature. These four-winged beasts stared down into the courtyard from blocky plinths, serving as steadfast gatekeepers. They gripped the corners of their platforms with clawed fingers, and their chiseled faces were a horrendous hybrid of hominine and feline. Vegetation crept up and over their bodies, as if binding them to their posts.

While the Lucid One marveled at this breathtaking view, something tickled the back of his mind. He tore his gaze away from the shrine and peered cautiously about the courtyard. Slowly, he realized that the mist had not really parted so much as retreated, falling back to form a solid wall around the perimeter of the plaza. With reserved determination, he drew his swords, preparing for the battle he knew was to come.

Still, the courtyard remained empty. The man circled defensively, keeping an eye on every direction in case something should leap through the fog walls, but nothing ever did. Without lowering his guard, he began to make his way towards the stairs, and only then did he see movement.

From behind one of the statues, a black-scaled serpent rose languidly. It flicked its purple tongue at the trespasser in a creeping hiss, weaving side to side as it studied him with ebon eyes. The Lucid One stared back fearlessly, unintimidated by a mere snake, and raised his blades in warning. He tensed as the serpent opened its fanged maw, coiling back to strike, but to his surprise, it sunk its teeth into the statue's hind leg.

Instantly, the eyes of the stone beast flashed a brilliant sapphire. Its skin fractured and flaked as it lurched to life, stretching itself up on lethargic limbs, jaw cracking and yawning with a strained howl. The man stepped back anxiously as its snake-tail bit again, spurring the monstrous being into motion. Then, another serpent appeared by the second statue, and it too nipped at the beast's back.

The Lucid One hastily retreated as the twin guardians leapt from their plinths and crashed to the ground. One of them stumbled as it fell, landing clumsily on its side, and its serpentine tail struck once more in reprimand. While the beast struggled to its feet, its companion lumbered at the intruder with an earthshaking roar.

He should have known. The Shrine of Samaras would not admit him without a fight.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

.

 **Eye of Spite** — A bloodshot eye ripped from its socket. The children of Samaras covet these treasures, and present them in offering to their Divine Mother. Only they can say what use she finds for them.

 **Heal** — A novice miracle. Restores a small amount of health to the caster. These tales of divinity have been retold throughout the ages, but are always revised with each iteration. As long as one believes wholeheartedly in their truth, their blessings remain strong.

 **Lightning Stake** — A powerful miracle of the Radiant Legion. Strikes with a stake of lightning. This tale was often evoked as a last defense against the Nephel, whose deadly embrace has claimed countless brave souls.

* * *

 **Brother Edson:** deviantart (dankbouls87/art/Brother-Edson-776445789)


	18. Maneater Sphinxes

**18\. Maneater Sphinxes**

.

A claw slammed into the earth. The Lucid One dove between the guardian's legs, his twin blades drawing sparks against its stone skin. Then, the serpentine tail sunk its fangs into his shoulder and flung him clear across the courtyard. He hit the ground hard, dropping his silver sword from the force. Before he could reach it, the other creature was upon him, gnashing with blunt teeth and forcing him to roll aside. Just as he stood, the statue charged him with its cluster of curling horns, shredding his clothes and skin. The injured man grit through the pain, and with a powerful thrust, he drove his sword up into the monster's mouth. The beast howled as it receded, murky liquid streaming from its lips.

A whistling gale filled the air, followed by a spear of ice that tore through the Lucid One. The statue's twin spit three more from its jaws in succession, and he sprinted sideways as each one narrowly missed. His eyes fell again on the blade lying between them, tantalizingly close. With a daring leap, he sprang for the weapon, yet the beast did the same. It launched forward on sculpted wings, ramming him off his feet. It pawed wildly at the fallen figure, but its prey escaped beneath its body, jabbing once in retreat to little effect.

The snake-tail lashed out again, puncturing his arm with its fangs, and the man winced as poison seared through his veins. Suddenly, the second guardian jumped high above its kin, hanging in midair with glistening wings spread wide. A flurry of hailstones scattered from them, too many to dodge. They did little damage, but chilled him to the bone, wearing down his endurance. He realized with dread that this was more than just a battle against wicked beasts. He was fighting with time itself.

Both creatures lumbered towards him, their venomous appendages nipping at their backs like spurring whips. As they closed in, the sorcerer drew his cane and cast a sphere of light into the air, then leapt between the clashing claws and teeth. The orb exploded into a shower of soul arrows, and the statues shied away as they were pummeled with arcane energy, giving him the chance to grab a blue flower from his pouches. He eagerly chewed the cold blossom, halting his frostbite, then washed it down with a chug of his sapphire flask.

He approached the guardians refreshed with a new tactic in mind. Once more, he made for his dropped sword, and the closest beast rushed to intercept. He skidded to a halt as he thrust out his cane, firing a sound bolt straight into the monster's face. Its forehead fissured open, and it reared back with a tortured cry. Before the other could come to its aid, the man retrieved his silver blade, then the Darklight flared into being with a metallic hiss.

He readied his shadowy weapons, prepared for the next assault. However, in that instant, the guardians' demeanor changed. They prowled about defensively, snarling low, and their tails spat with rancor. Their eyes lingered on the toxic blue flames, as if intimidated by its presence. The combatants stalked one another, neither side willing to make the first move, then the creatures bared their fangs, mouths brimming with icy magic. They spewed a series of frost spears at him, but the sorcerer easily evaded the crossing missiles before dashing through. If they would not come to him, then he would take the fight to them.

He tumbled between the statues, slashing swiftly yet prudently. Stone flesh shattered, oozing black congealed blood. His blades left umbral traces in the air as they raced about, finding their mark again and again, while he remained untouched. The beasts tore at the ground, kicking up dirt and snow; the snake-tails snapped their jaws, catching nothing but cold mist. Despite the monsters raging on either side, the Lucid One fearlessly pressed his onslaught.

The very nature of battle seemed changed. It was no longer a struggle for survival, a desperate attempt to cheat death. He was not a terrified, confused mortal anymore. Now, he weaved between the powerful blows with a clear mind, striking at each opportunity, and withdrawing before his opponents could strike back. He was not striving to keep stride with the pace of combat. He was the one who set the rhythm, who took the lead in this deadly dance.

Such a change might have caused him worry, were he not so enthralled.

Again, a serpent lashed out, and again, it missed the nimble warrior. Before it could recoil, he brought both swords down, slicing straight through its scaly body. The tail hissed as it fell writhing to the earth, while a gout of thick blood sprayed from the severed stump. Caught unawares, the Lucid One was showered in sickening slime, burning his eyes and mouth. He stumbled back blindly, and that sense of harmony was abruptly lost.

In his instance of weakness, a taloned hand constricted around his torso. Ribs snapped as he was hoisted into a guardian's maw, and its rocky teeth chomped down over his head and shoulders. It gnawed hungrily, rending flesh and breaking bone, until it tossed his limp form across the plaza with a violent roar.

The dying man willed his limbs to move. Only one arm responded, digging painfully through his robes to retrieve his flask. The poison was draining his life fast, soaked into his face and clothes. He stared at the twin terrors, his vision blurred by their tainted blood, expecting them to finish him off. However, they too seemed tormented by some unseen affliction. He took his chances and gulped down two mouthfuls of the blessed water, enough to mend his horrible wounds. His ribs popped, his vision cleared, his arm clicked into place, and his flesh rapidly regrew. Though the venom still burned within his body, he forced himself to stand, noting that he had only one precious sip remaining.

Meanwhile, the statues continued to crumble, chunks and flakes falling away like shed skin. They staggered as if intoxicated, and he realized it was not far from the truth. The Darklight had corrupted them, eating at their insides, just like himself. The Lucid One braved a smile. They had come so close to killing him, but that opportunity had passed. He would not make the same mistake twice.

Then, as he watched, the guardians collapsed onto their haunches and let out an anguished howl. Rings of golden light encircled them, shimmering with intricate runes. Before his very eyes, their decaying bodies began to reform. His hopes sank with every crack mended, their numerous wounds sealing shut one by one. Even as the Inquisitor's toxin caused new fractures, they too were repaired. Time was against him more than ever.

With an incensed snarl, the sorcerer drew his cane and unleashed as many sound bolts as he could muster. His barrage of spells smashed into the immobile constructs, blasting off fist-sized slabs. The chimeric twins flew aside on heavy wings as the circles of light evaporated, although their divine magic persisted. A final invisible arrow shot from the man's catalyst, then his energy was spent. Even the Darklight had faded from his swords. In its absence, the guardians took to the offensive again, denying him the leisure of drinking his Estus.

They pounced upon him in a frenzy. It took all his focus to avoid being torn limb from limb. He slipped dangerously through their grasp, and all the while, the poison continued to wear down his vitality. His life was ebbing with each passing moment. The reality of his predicament weighed heavily on his heart. He began to realize his abilities alone would not be enough to fell these resilient beasts.

He cursed himself in sudden revelation. He did not have to fight alone. At once, he produced the white bell from his pocket and rang it with vigor.

Its musical peal had a strange effect on the guardians. They went completely still at the sound, their fierce expressions softening. Then, they turned their heads skyward and bayed mournfully into the aurora above. The Lucid One tensed, wondering if they were preparing some new attack, yet they simply cried. So strange was their reaction that he neglected to strike while their defenses faltered, and watched in puzzlement as they grieved.

As the chime waned, so too did their sorrow. The statues returned their focus to the intruder and lunged at him in renewed vengeance. They thrashed with tooth and nail, chasing after their fleeing sport with unrelenting fury. It was all the man could do to stay ahead of them. Mauling claws rent his robes as he ducked and tumbled, losing ground with every ragged breath. His feet slipped on the slick tiles, threatening to leave him sprawled before the monsters at their mercy, and still the poison destroyed him from within.

The tailless guardian stretched its wings and pelted him with sleet. The sorcerer was knocked back by the icy wave, skin and bones cracking from the cold. Already his body was at its limit, and his adversaries gave him no quarter, making that final sip of healing water unattainable. He struggled to dodge the next blow, his stamina drained by frostbite. An upward swipe sent him reeling. He gasped for breath in the dirt, ribs exposed, and barely avoided a brutal stomp. The other beast swooped in, nearly impaling him on its twisted horns. The tide had quickly turned against him. The man could almost taste his mortality once again.

At last, his prayer was fulfilled. In the distance, a lone figure emerged from the fog, and the Lucid One stared in awe. He could not remember ever seeing anything so glorious. It was not a pale white phantom, but a radiant golden spirit, outfitted with a tricorn hat and long leather coat. He bore a hound-faced shield, rectangular sword, and a mechanical crossbow strapped to his back, prizes claimed from his previous victory.

Morrow, ever reliable, had answered the bell's summons.

The shining warrior wasted no time charging into the fray. He slung the shield over his shoulder and drew a gold chime, which clamored and crackled as lightning spiked from his fist. He hurled the bolt like a javelin into a guardian's backside, peeling apart its dense shell like paper. The creature bellowed in shocked agony, then both twins rounded on their new aggressor and trampled towards him. In the blink of an eye, the shield was back in the spirit's hand, held fast against the approaching fiends.

With the enemies distracted, the Lucid One hastily drained the last of his water, granting him a few more precious moments. A warm dose of Estus restored his spirits, then he was back on his feet. Now that he was freed from the constant chaos, he studied the monsters as they clashed with Morrow, searching for any flaws he might exploit. He noticed that the tailless one hung back, breathing frost spears from a safe distance, while its companion rushed headlong into melee. It seemed crazed, clawing and biting with abandon, its slithering tail goading it on with incessant nibbling. Suddenly, he understood, and devised his plan.

The demure guardian spotted the advancing sorcerer and quickly turned its magic on him. He dashed through the piercing spears with swords in hand, his attention fixed on the construct dueling the gold spirit. As he neared, its tail hissed and sprang for him with jaws unhinged. He twisted at the last second and sliced through its neck, smartly avoiding the putrid blood that gushed forth. A second slash separated it completely, and the serpent fell squirming in its death throes.

His small victory was cut short by a rearing kick. The man was thrown onto his back, breathless, while the guardian whirled around with its forepaws fisted. As they hammered down, Morrow intervened and took their full weight against his shield. His entire frame shivered under their crushing might, yet he stood strong, then rammed his club-like sword into the exposed belly of the beast.

Their foe fell back shrieking, and for a brief instant, the two mortals' eyes met. The golden warrior took in the other's battered state, and promptly tossed him a gilded vial before resuming the battle. The Lucid One lifted it in astonishment, recognizing the elixir from the Inquisitor's torture chamber. Without hesitation, he ripped open the stopper and downed its slick, silvery contents. To his utter relief, his body was purged of all ailments, including the poison. He was miraculously whole, and ready to put an end to these exasperating abominations.

They took a guardian each, challenging them one on one. The sorcerer was pleased to see his plan had proven successful; without their tails to vex them, the enemy had become lethargic and sluggish. He resummoned the Darklight, its cobalt flames reflecting in the creature's fearful eyes, and closed in with confidence. Stone wings burst open, releasing a blizzard of hail, but the man hurdled towards the statue's ghoulish face, where the squall could not reach him. He retaliated with his own storm of steel and shadow, leaving deep gouges across its visage, until its carved features began to break.

Morrow deflected a falling strike and bashed the beast across the jaw, nearly knocking it clean off. The monster roared indignantly before soaring back with a powerful beat, loosing a blast of ice in the process. The golden spirit crouched behind his shield, but it was a futile gesture. The cold billowed around him, leaving icicles streaking from his guard and frost glazing over his coat. He pushed through the bitter chill, dropping his shield entirely, then flipped the crossbow into his left hand. He let loose a volley of charged bolts that tore into the animal, chipping at its shell and punching holes through its wings. The guardian yelped as it violently shook its mane, trying to dislodge the arrows that nettled its face.

The Lucid One continued to cut into his opponent. He forced the fiend back, never easing his assault, dodging its blind swipes with finesse. A horn snapped from its crown; three of its fingers were lopped off at once. One of its eyes shattered, leaking viscous fluid down its mangled jowls. Left alone without the aid of its companion, the great beast was slowly caving.

Morrow had his chime in hand. As he rang it down the length of his sword, lightning leapt from the decorative square blade in flashing arcs. He took it in both hands as he descended upon the wounded statue, flailing repeatedly with cruel intent. Sparks flew as they collided, the monster trying desperately to repel its assailant, but the radiant warrior would not yield. He swung at a claw coming for his face, and the hand erupted in a shower of stone and blood. The guardian fell back with a whimper, cradling its injured arm, and spit a frost spear at close range. Morrow narrowly avoided the attack and rolled beside the retreating creature. His sword came down against its hip — once, twice, three times — and the entire limb exploded into rubble.

Twin blades cleaved down in a diagonal slash, splitting the guardian's face wide open. It fell on its stomach with a weakened groan as its head broke in half, revealing a swollen mass of slimy flesh. With both swords, the Lucid One thrust them deep into the cavity, then ripped them out in a river of gore. Black blood steamed as it washed across the snow.

The other statue lay on its side, crying pitifully, struggling to push itself away from the merciless spirit. Morrow approached unhurried, and held his chime high as it sang. A ray of lightning flared from his grip, and with all his strength, he drove it down into the creature's skull. There was an eruption of light and stone, then the beast went limp as its body crumpled, an oozing puddle spreading around its corpse.

Just as they had risen, so did the guardians die together.

.

* * *

.

The pair of warriors stood panting, their puffs of breath visible in the frigid air. The Lucid One turned to his comrade with a triumphant grin, always grateful for his assistance, and Morrow offered a half-bow, half-nod in return. The golden champion began to fade away, returning to whatever place he may have come from. The last thing the sorcerer saw was the keen glimmer of zeal in his friend's eyes, kindled by the thrill of the fight.

Then, Morrow was gone, and he was alone once more in the misty clearing.

After regaining his composure, the man started his climb up the massive stone stairway. Even the steps were intricately adorned, their risers decorated with entwining vines, flowers, snakes, birds, and beasts. They led him to a set of sturdy double doors at their peak. These appeared to be the only part of the shrine that did not blend seamlessly together with the rest, for unlike the colorless rock, these doors were made of teal, speckled stone. Polished ivory rings served as handles, set amidst peculiar imagery.

Carved at the base of both doors was a blooming flower from which a woman's torso arose, cradling a giant pearl in her arms. Watery spirals fountained above her, circling around seven puerile maidens. They each bore two sets of wings, not feathered like the angels, but thin and veined like leaves.

Somewhere in the haze of his memories he recalled these images, dredged up from a past life. This was Samaras, the Propagator herself, granting life to her daughters of the sea. This was the angel he had come to kill.

His chest swelled with conflicting emotions — reverence, sorrow, shame, determination. He breathed them all out until his heart had steadied. Then, he firmly grasped the ivory rings and dragged the doors open.

.

* * *

.

 **Appendix**

 **Bountiful Tides** — A miracle granted to the maidens of Samaras. Gradually restores health for self and nearby allies. Those who worship the Mother of Rebirth are blessed with resplendent life, for she wholly believes in the power of second chances.

 **Frost Hail** — A sorcery of the Nephel, better used for defense than dealing damage. Fires a barrage of hailstones at the enemy, causing heavy frostbite. When the armies of the Four Cardinals invaded, the Nephel bravely defended their lands, and died just the same.

 **Frost Spear** — An advanced sorcery of the Nephel. Fires a piercing spear of frozen souls. The children of Samaras grew to be potent spellcasters out of necessity, and imitated many existing sorceries with their unique frost magic.

 **Lightning Blade** — A miracle taught to the disciples of Heliphon. Reinforces a weapon with lightning. Worshippers of the Illuminator praise these fleeting lights, which serve as beacons of hope amidst the emptiness.

* * *

 **Maneater** **Sphinx:** deviantart (dankbouls87/art/Maneater-Sphinx-780959304)


	19. Shrine of Samaras

**19\. Shrine of Samaras**

.

The inside of the temple was disturbingly peaceful.

The Lucid One remained still, alert for any sign of danger, but none presented itself. Before him was a wide rectangular pool strafed by statues covered in purple cloth. Only the stone tendrils grasping their pedestals were visible. The crystal-clear water was spotted with lily-pads and pale blue flowers, their vines snaking across the floor and up ornate pillars that bore the vaulted ceiling. The entire shrine was overrun by vegetation, an encompassing meshwork that concealed the meticulous carvings beneath.

Two curved staircases lay on either side of the pool, leading to an upper level that wrapped around the width of the hall. The aurora lights drifted through open archways in prismatic beams, faintly illuminating the damp interior. When he was certain there was nothing patrolling the walkway above, the man carefully made his way forward into the shrine.

 _"Ru sap sert!"_

He whipped around as a cry shattered the silence. A sentry on the upper balcony had eluded his sight, lurking in the shadows behind him. The white-winged figure was robed in layers of blue and silver, with an oval mirror chained around its neck. A tall mask sported numerous mouths arranged in diamond patterns. As it shouted, it bobbed up and down and rapped its two-pronged staff against the floor, ringing the bells that swung from either side.

The alarming noise was sure to draw others. The Lucid One turned towards the stairs, prepared to run, but the rippling waters stopped him in his tracks. From the surface, three ethereal phantoms rose, armed with an oar, wooden pike, and cudgel. The shadowy-blue spirits raised their heads; as one, they slid pieces of parchment over their weapons, coating them in icy crystals. Then, they sprinted weightlessly across the pool as if it were frozen solid.

As they converged, the angel shouted again in its strange tongue. _"Rethom ethrof slous!"_

The spirits descended upon him in a flurry of blows. The sorcerer spun around the first pike thrust, his blades instantly in hand, and countered with a series of sweeping strikes, keeping the foes at bay. The oar whisked overhead; the cudgel bore down at his skull. He halted the blow with crossed swords, then sent the phantom stumbling back with a solid kick.

The pikeman jabbed again. The Lucid One sidestepped the frozen spear and stomped down, pinning the haft to the ground with a splintering crack. As its wielder stumbled, the silver blade lashed out and opened the warrior's throat. The second one slid between his ribs without resistance, and the spirit billowed away into smoke.

An oar raced at him from behind. The man deftly tumbled away, but as he moved to retaliate, a chilling arrow burst across his shoulder. From up high, the masked angel prepared another spell, frost swirling between the points of its bident. The spirits charged just as it released the icy bolt, and the Lucid One dove behind a nearby statue for cover.

The pedestal quivered at the spell's collision, leaving a cloud of snow shimmering in the air. A moment later, the oar swung against the stone base, forcing the cowering sorcerer to roll away. The cudgel bashed into the floor, just missing his knee, and he hastily retreated up the stairs. The spirits were of little threat; nay, they were only a distraction from the angel's deadly magic.

As the summoned gave chase, the twin chimes rang once again. The Lucid One tensed as he reached the top of the stairs, where he beheld a tall mirror hanging from the wall. Something dark reflected within, a shadow taking shape, then the mirror cracked. It exploded into shards as yet another dark spirit leapt out, and the man was taken aback at the familiar foe. It was the archer from the forest.

If the hunter recognized him, they gave no sign. Without hesitation, the bowman drew two arrows and fired them in rapid succession. The first whistled past the sorcerer's neck; the second pierced his thigh, glancing painfully off bone. He grit against the injury and kept moving towards the angel, limping as fast as he could down the lengthy gallery. As he ran, he saw dozens of mirrors lining the walls of the upper level, each one bolstering his desperation. If he did not silence the summoner, the phantoms would never cease.

At the far end of the hall, the angel floated into view, its cerulean robes wavering above the tiled floor, and began chanting as frost glistened around its staff. The Lucid One glanced back as the archer loosed another arrow, missing so narrowly that the fletching tickled his face. He did not stop, and stared down the divine being in determination.

The spell was cast, hissing as it darted down the corridor. The sorcerer sheathed his left sword and dove to the floor, tumbling beneath the icy projectile. When he stood, his cane was in hand. It hummed softly as he launched a sound bolt at the angel, forcing it to retreat behind the railing. He immediately resumed his charge, weaving side to side while arrows continued to streak after him.

The man redrew his sword, and with a grating shriek, the blades were enveloped in the shadowy flames of Darklight. He rounded the corner and was met by a thrusting bident. He ducked aside, but one of the points caught the corner of his mouth and ripped through his cheek. He screamed silently as blood gushed from the wound, then he drove each blade into either side of the angel's torso, drawing an anguished cry that reverberated through the chamber. The summoner pulled itself free with a flap of its wings, and before the Lucid One could act, the mirror around its neck shone with a blinding light. He braced himself for another spell, but to his surprise, the light vanished along with the angel.

An arrow ricocheted off the pillar beside him. The three phantoms were gaining quickly, advancing from both sides of the gallery. At the opposite hall, near the top of the stairs, the angel reappeared in a brilliant flash. Its guttural laugh echoed across the vast space to taunt the embittered mortal.

He snapped off the arrowhead protruding from his thigh, pulled the other half out, then ambled towards the archer. Arrow after arrow soared past, but he ducked and hacked the projectiles out of the air with a precision he had not known before. The hunter stepped back from the relentless fighter and pulled strongly on the bow, coating its arrow in frost. As the ice flew, the Lucid One dove beneath it in a rolling slash, but the enemy tumbled safely out of range. Before he could stand, the sorcerer tackled him head-on. The pair struggled against each other, until finally, the lithe archer was slammed against the wall, then flung bodily over the balcony. The phantom landed in the shallow pool with a crack.

The angel continued to barrage the intruder with magic, but the pillars offered enough cover to make it through unharmed. He rounded the corner and found the other two spirits rushing to intercept him. He rolled right between their flailing clubs, then blocked with both swords as the silver staff crashed into his side. Sliding under the blow, he twirled about, slashing through the summoner repeatedly and releasing a fine silver mist from its wounds. Immediately, the mirror flashed again, but this time, the man thrust blindly into the white light.

Both blades connected. With the radiance still eclipsing his sight, he twisted his blades and tore in opposite directions. The light vanished as the angel fell to its knees, and its silver bident clattered to the floor with a final chime. _"Rethom..."_ the creature whispered as it evaporated into dewdrops, _"Eam vigrof..."_

The Lucid One quickly spun towards the phantoms. His eyes went wide as he faced the archer once again, an arrow nocked mere inches from his eye. He flinched as the bowstring snapped, yet only air flittered across his face. He glanced up to find the marksman fading away, weapon lowered as if accepting defeat. Behind him, the other spirits dissipated into dark wisps, then the shrine was silent once more.

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* * *

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The man collapsed against the balcony, breathing heavily. Though his injuries were minor, he had barely set foot inside the temple, and he had no doubt the dangers would only intensify as he progressed. He fumbled inside his heavy robes, then cursed himself further. His healing flask was empty from the previous battle, and only half his Estus remained. He hesitantly drank from the warm elixir, careful not to spill any from his ruptured cheek. Now, there was enough for one last swig.

As he rested, he took stock of the situation. A part of him wanted to ring his silver bell, to summon a companion to his side, yet his gaze kept wandering to the bident lying on the floor. Its twin bells were nearly identical to his own, and this unnerved him. Did their sound call forth only those allied to the summoner, or did they open the doors for any manner of spirit to invade? It was surely the Nephel's own magic that imbued them, and he could not trust in the enchantments of his enemy. Besides, two trespassers would draw more attention than one.

Despite his dwindling resources, the Lucid One concluded that he should carry on alone, and with even greater caution. Another foolish mistake could very well seal his fate in this deceptive paradise.

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* * *

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A furtive glance through the archway revealed a similar chamber, with an upper level encircling its vast perimeter. There were no angels in sight to guard this balcony, so the sorcerer crept beside a pillar and peered into the vacuous room below.

As before, there were many cloth-covered statues, most dotting the edges of the hall in alcoves, though one larger centerpiece rested in the middle. Between them crawled a handful of strange creatures, the likes of which he had never seen before. Their gaunt torsos appeared feminine, with their lower halves concealed inside heavy spiral shells, and their faces masked by a mess of tangled strands that were too viscid to be hair. Each one was dragging a ceramic jug beside them, taking great care not to spill its contents. As he observed, the shell-women scraped their way towards a scattering of conical vases placed around the room, and emptied the contents of their jugs inside. Murky liquid splashed over dark soil, and eventually, the lowest point of the cones dripped a steady bead of clear water into basins underneath.

As he watched the strange process in mild curiosity, something much larger entered the chamber. The Lucid One went stiff at the sight of the monstrous being, its numerous tentacles undulating behind it like snake tails. He had seen this kind of aberration before, but those ones had all been dead and petrified. Now that he was witnessing one in all its slick, slimy repugnance, he understood why the other angels had feared them so.

This was a Nephel, the unholy spawn of Samaras.

Despite its looming size, rubbery flesh, and curling tentacles that draped from its head, the most bizarre aspect of this creature was the lavish jewelry it sported. Delicate chains hung from a gem-encrusted mantle, and polished silver bands sat at the base of its upper tendrils. Its humanoid arms were decorated in bracelets, bangles, and rings, all linked by a web of fine metal threads. A violet, silken veil covered its face, hiding whatever nightmarish visage lay beneath. It was at once hideous and elegant.

The Nephel glided among its servile minions, overseeing their water-pouring ritual with silent deliberation. The Lucid One continued to study their movements, searching for the safest way through. There were two other openings on the balcony, one to either side, but the shell-women headed in these same directions once their jugs were emptied. They crawled back to some unseen recess, then reappeared with pitchers filled once more. He could not risk being spotted, so he employed his most reliable distraction.

The Inquisitor's cane vibrated as he released an aural decoy into the room below. The intangible spell warbled when it struck the far wall, immediately drawing the Nephel's attention. It hissed and flailed its boneless limbs, calling for its minions to investigate, and as they abandoned their jugs one by one, the sorcerer descended the opposite staircase in silence.

The steps lay parallel to the room, and he had to crouch to avoid being seen through the pillars. Fortunately, every creature was preoccupied with the unfamiliar noise, and none of them so much as glanced in his direction. He made his way carefully to the ground level and found an adjacent room with a fountaining well, its waters clouded with telltale signs of poison. Casting a final glance backwards, the man slipped into the recess with a sigh of relief.

He immediately saw a lone shell-woman as she withdrew her pitcher from the well. She stared back with eyeless lids, her toothless mouth hanging agape in stupor. Without thinking, the Lucid One leapt forward and drove his blade through her head. It slid in without resistance, as if her skull were no thicker than parchment. Her pale face deformed from the blow in a sickening manner, and her body went limp without so much as a whimper.

The ease of the kill struck the man with an unexpected twinge of guilt. He paused only for a moment, just long enough for the ceramic jug to fall and shatter against the floor, spilling its tainted water. He wasted no time checking behind himself again, and ran to a second stairwell that curled down into the floor, nearly slipping on the wet stone steps in his haste. The pathetic shell-woman may have died without a struggle, but he was certain the Nephel would not offer him that same luxury.

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* * *

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The air grew damp and fetid the further down he traveled. Only his shining seal illuminated the path ahead, glistening off gouts that spewed from cracks in the well. He did his best to avoid them; he had no purple blossoms to counteract the poison, and the ring from the Inquisitor's tower would only delay the onset of effects. When he finally reached the bottom, free of affliction, he found himself in a narrow and winding tunnel with blackened water pooling in the middle. There was barely enough dry ground to avoid it, yet the Lucid One inched forward precariously.

Shortly, the tunnel opened into a larger cavern. Its rocky walls had dozens of small niches carved in them, each one just wide enough for the corpses that lay within. The skeletal figures were dressed in assorted garments, some in mere rags, others in fanciful gowns. A few had weapons or other valuables placed beside them. He inspected them as he passed, hoping to find something of assistance, but most were simple material items that would do him little good. Even the weapons seemed so brittle that they would break if he attempted to move them.

Between the unmarked graves were large fissures of ice. At first, he paid them little mind, but he soon noticed other shapes trapped inside them. They were difficult to make out through the glaze, but they seemed to be twisted, vaguely humanoid forms, ropey and tangled like vines. Sometimes there was only one, sometimes more. The sight was unnerving, but no more than what lay above, so he moved on.

After some time, the cave opened into two more paths, forming a crossroads. The man estimated that the right path led back towards the shrine, while the other two led into the unknown. As vacant as the tombs were, he decided to keep exploring, and marched forward into the darkness.

The miserable scenery did not change in the slightest. The graves stretched on by the dozen until they abruptly ended. There was nothing special about the final grave, though its occupant was better dressed than the others. With nothing of interest found, he turned to leave, then spotted a corpse that was not ensconced in a tomb.

The dead man lay slumped unceremoniously in the dirt. The Lucid One recognized his robes as the same ones Tensen had worn, marking him as a scholar of Falmour. Sure enough, a silver cane was gripped in his bony right hand, though its thread had been severed and its pieces scattered uselessly. Oddly, there was a metal-wrought basket over his head, with openings barely wide enough to see through. The man almost found its design familiar, yet its purpose remained lost on him.

Most importantly, a threadbare tome lay beside the corpse. The sorcerer carefully flipped it open to find most of its pages worn away, rotted out from the musty territory. As he peeled away the tattered strips in despondency, he managed to find a few in the middle that were intact, detailing some mysterious sorceries. With great care, the Lucid One tore them from their bindings and folded them into his robes, hoping that the serpent might aid him with their transcription.

Backtracking, the wanderer made his way down the next tunnel. Once again, he found nothing of use, only material possessions whose value had long since decayed alongside their owners. This cave also resulted in a dead end, and so the sorcerer made his way back. As he gave the tombs a final, cursory glance, he suddenly noticed a skeleton dressed in a familiar garb. The sword and shield resting beside it only confirmed its identity.

It was the corpse of the spirit who had fought with him against the forest hunters. The Lucid One balked at the unexpected sight. All the spirits he had met were of living people, not those long deceased. The revelation was unsettling, but he pushed it aside as yet another mystery of this strange realm, then busied himself with inspecting the belongings.

Though the sword and shield wore signs of rust, they were much better off than the others. Now that he had the chance to view them more closely, he realized they were of master craftsmanship and exquisite design. The lengthy blade had one flat edge and the other undulating, like waves of the ocean. The shield was designed to resemble a blooming flower, with telltale signs of a rosy finish that had been worn away, revealing turquoise metal beneath.

The shield interested him most. He reached out to touch the armament, but as soon as his fingers grazed it, a sharp crack echoed through the cavern. The Lucid One jumped back as ice toppled from the wall beside him. Another crash caused the entire formation to give way, and along with it, the twisted thing it contained.

Without the ice to obscure its features, the abomination was even more gruesome to behold. Its head looked like a shriveled seed connected to a snarl of entangled roots, their shape appearing human only on the most superficial level. Two limbs stretched to either side, while its body tapered off into a slug-like tail. It released a high-pitched tone as it charged without warning.

The first swipe caught the man off-guard and sent him sprawling against the unforgiving stone. He had barely regained his senses when it pounced upon him, thrashing its stringy arms in a frenzy. Though its blows were weak, it attacked like a mad beast, and the sorcerer struggled to escape. He lashed out with his swords, chopping off strands of squirming veins, but it did not slow the creature in the slightest. When he spotted an opening, he rushed in, but the monster whipped around and sent him tumbling with its sturdy tail.

The Lucid One backed away to prepare his spells. Suddenly, the thing's arm rapidly extended, rippling down the tunnel to dig its way under his robes and skin. His eyes bulged in agony as the roots burrowed deep, dragging him back into the creature's grasp. It hoisted him off his feet, blood streaming from various wounds, and shrieked again in its single, earsplitting note.

It took all of his willpower just to cross his blades before him. In one motion, he slashed them together, severing the strands that bound him and releasing the Darklight. As the black-blue flames enveloped the roots, they wriggled their way out of his body and fell to the earth, while the creature cried monotonously and shook its seared limb. The Lucid One rushed in while it was distracted, slashing through its twisted body at random. Its tail swung around again, but he hurdled over it and kept hacking.

Whatever this thing was, it was tormented by the Darklight. It snaked away in desperation, but the man pursued it remorselessly, weaving between its aimless attacks. At last, he found his chance, and dipped below a flailing limb before rising with a double slash, cleaving its shriveled head in two. The soft tissue smoked as it ignited with cold flame.

The creature wobbled uncertainly before collapsing, its body unspooling into a shapeless mass. The man slumped against the crypt walls, panting and clutching at his pierced torso. The battle had been brief, but the damage was done. His health was ailing. The only solace he found was from somehow avoiding the poisoned waters, which would have certainly undone him. If he did not find a safe haven soon, however, it would not matter either way.

As he caught his breath, the seal's shimmer reflected on something buried in the tangled heap of the monster. Using his blade, he pushed aside the roots to find a ring caught in a knot. With little effort, he cut it free, then held it up for a closer look. It was a square, light-blue gemstone framed in gold, bearing only a slight resemblance to his own purple-gemmed one. Though he was sure it boasted magical properties, he could not discern what they might be. He looked over his own rings, contemplating on whether or not he should replace one. Each one was bulky, leaving only enough room to wear four comfortably.

Momentarily, he made his choice. With a grimace of disdain, he removed the Sentinel's Seal, having entirely forgotten its presence. After his last encounter with Brother Edson, he doubted he would ever want or need its aid again. He carelessly tossed the ring into the shallow rivulet, then slid his new addition on.

Now that the threat was over, he returned to the other treasures. He touched the shield tentatively, but nothing burst from the walls this time. Lifting it in his palms, he was surprised at how light it felt, and slipped it onto his left forearm with ease. If there was ever the time to use a shield, this was it. He could forego wielding his twin blades if it meant having better protection.

He tried lifting the foreign sword next, but though it weighed less than expected, it was too unwieldy to use in one hand. Reluctantly, he placed it back with its owner, then eyed the corpse's extravagant clothing. The outfit seemed to signify some high ranking, sporting platinum-wrought pauldrons and bracers over a deep blue tailcoat, which in turn covered a chainmail shirt. Silver-threaded embroidery swirled around the lapels and cuffs, bestowing it with a regal appearance. Baggy pants were tucked into heavy leather boots, reinforced with metal greaves.

The man took one glance at his own fur robes, frayed and dingy, then began stripping the dead man without a second thought. Soon, he was buckling his new boots and buttoning up the coat, marveling at its near-perfect fit. The armor was sturdy but light, and did not hinder his movements, offering greater defense with no repercussions. Of course, the cloth carried with it the unmistakeable stench of death and decay, but this was no different than his previous apparel, and it would surely fade in time. With newfound resolve, the Lucid One gathered the rest of his belongings and set off to explore the final tunnel.

He vaguely recalled that long ago — what felt like a lifetime ago — he had given pause to pilfering those ragged robes from a frozen corpse. Now, he did not hesitate, his conscience clear. He was a survivor. There was no time to debate the morality of his actions anymore.

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* * *

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 **Appendix**

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 **Azure Resin** — A parchment of crushed azurite resin that applies frost to a weapon. This resin is formed from tears shed by the ivory trees. It was first created by outcasts who worshipped the Divine Mother, in direct defiance of the Cardinals' decree.

 **Blue Quartz Ring** — A ring once worn by Captain Brenlyn the sailor. Boosts frost defense. When the ships of Captain Brenlyn reached their destination, he forced his men onto its frigid shores, heedless of their misery. Few can blame them for turning on their former commander.

 **Diviner's Bident** — A two-pronged staff wielded by diviners of Samaras. When used in a ritual dance, its twin chimes summon aid from beyond. Since their inception, the diviners have served as mouthpieces for the angels of the sea. Their prayers echo across time and space.


End file.
